Love You Like That
by Celadon6
Summary: I thought I had it all: great job, great best friend, great family; but everyone says that, don't they? No one ever wants to talk about how lonely take-away for one and an empty apartment is because who wants to be THAT girl. Certainly not me. Of course, I never wanted to be the lovesick idiot either. I guess we don't always get what we want. Elena POV. AU/AH.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own** ** _The Vampire Diaries_** **, the characters, or their likenesses. No copyright infringement intended.**

See that zombie passed out on her desk surrounded by enough empty double-shot espresso cups to fuel a small nation? Yeah, the one with the greasy bird's nest for hair and no doubt killer morning breath. But hey, great earrings, huh? Hand-made from repurposed glass beads at the coolest little Boho accessories shop in Williamsburg. I have the matching necklace, which I haven't seen since… a while actually, the Polo show I think. I wonder what happened to that? Alas, I digress…

Like I was saying, that's yours truly… Elena Gilbert.

If you asked _Forbes_ magazine, I'm a twenty-nine-year-old fashion mogul slash entrepreneur and one of last years' _30 Under 30_. Fancy stuff, right? If you asked my employees I'm a perfectionist to a fault and I have very high expectations of people when they show up to work in the morning, which I'm sure drives most of them crazy. If you asked my friends, I'm a simple, small town Virginia girl living my insane big city dream with my best friend. But if you want to know the _truth_ , I'm just tired… really, really tired.

Fashion Week is set to take over New York City in thirty-two days and _Chateau Verveine_ will be premiering our brand new line of organic cotton summer dresses at our very own runway show. It's a huge opportunity for our brand, _huge_. Not only was it a peerless honor to be asked to headline our very own show, but also this is where _Chateau Verveine_ could potentially make the leap from small NYC fashion house to international brand. I have wanted nothing more than exactly this since I can remember. I mean, my Barbie dolls walked Fashion Week runways when I was a kid. I imagined how my prom dress would look on a Fashion Week runway. Every design I've ever approved for production has been mentally strutted down that hallowed strip of stage. The only problem is… I've got nothing.

Zilch.

Nada.

Nil.

This time last year, I was a font of brilliant ideas. I kept a sketchbook in my gym bag, on my nightstand, and by the TV at home just in case I came up with something and needed to put it on paper immediately. I could go to sleep and wake up in the morning with an entire season's worth of beautiful designs, just like that; but now… not so much. The last time I flipped open my sketchbook I ended up drawing a picture of some ducks at Central Park. They were really sweet ducks and so cute with their curly tail feathers and little orange feet, but Fashion Week is no duck show.

I don't know how to describe it, I just feel like I'm a little inspiration deficient lately. I know it's partially because of stress and I'll be the first to admit that I am losing my freaking mind over this whole Fashion Week ordeal, but there's got to be something more to it. I just can't put my finger on it, but as of late I just feel like _something_ has been missing.

I really think I just need a nice long vacation somewhere sunny and beautiful, like Tahiti or Bora Bora—two weeks of blue water, white sand, and cold mai tais. Yep, that ought to do it. Unfortunately I can't even think about anything like that for at least another month. So here I am, holed up in my office sleeping off another espresso hangover and trying to remember the last time I was at my apartment long enough to water my poor neglected orchid. It's probably dead now, dammit.

At this point my only saving grace is my partner in crime… I mean, business… the indomitable Caroline Forbes: varsity cheer captain, three-time Miss Mystic Falls, and all-around ball of sunshine. We've been best friends since forever; we were born within two hours of each other. Our moms say that we bonded instantly in the hospital nursery and we've been best friends ever since. Caroline is my heterosexual life partner and I love her to little blonde pieces. As soon as we were old enough we made a pact to get out of our little one-horse town and make something epic of ourselves. The day after we turned our tassels and bid adieu to Mystic Falls High we moved to New York City with $3,453, my third-hand Honda Civic, and enough ambition to make up for our lack of everything else. We found some very generous cockroaches in Queens who agreed to share a fourth-floor walk-up with us for six months and we got down to work. Now here we are, eleven years later living next door to Bono in Manhattan and headlining our own runway show at Fashion Week.

When I put it like that, I really should be a _lot_ more excited. And I am, don't get me wrong! I am so so grateful for _everything_ that this insane trip around the sun has given me, but right now I just want a good night's sleep. A home-cooked meal and a night of cheesy chick flicks wouldn't hurt either; while we're at it, let's just throw in a mani-pedi and a stack of celebrity gossip rags for good measure. It wouldn't be Bora Bora but it's a good start.

When we first moved here Caroline blended easily with the fast pace of New York, she's a perfectly-coiffed round peg in a round hole. She got one taste of the Big Apple and never looked back. Anymore, people think she's a native; she's even picked up the accent and mastered the commanding taxi-heralding wrist snap. Me, on the other hand, I'm still a simple, small town girl at heart. Sure, on the outside I'm all charcoal pencil skirts and high-end haircuts but sometimes, when no one is watching, I let myself miss chasing fireflies and the smell of magnolias on the breeze back home. I miss seeing a familiar face every time you step out of your house. I miss Saturday farmer's markets and all of the zany town soirees that Mystic Falls throws. I miss my family like crazy, even if they are weird and loud.

Maybe I should consider a trip home rather than Tahiti: shorter flight, better cobbler.

"Rise and shine my dearest darling!" Caroline's chipper voice rings through my ears, rousing me from a very pleasant dream; I don't want to say that Kit Harington was involved, but Kit Harington was _so_ involved and let me tell you… Jon Snow knows _a lot_. Good thing Caroline was too busy buzzing around my office to notice my grumbling and glaring.

"Oh my gosh, have you been here all night? Ugh, this place smells like a musty Starbucks. I mean really, El, eww. You're all, like… filmy," my best friend shudders as she pulls the drapes in my office open and stares at the landscape below. I had to remind myself that she _is_ my best friend, no matter how badly I want to throw a stapler at her head and get back to my dream. "Look at that city, El, just wanting to be conquered and made fabulous. And here you are, sleeping the day away."

"Caroline, jeez. What time is it?" I finally grumble, trying to get my bearings but all I can see was a wall of blinding light where Caroline peeled my blackout curtains away from the windows. Ever so slowly the city skyline begins to bleed in from the edges of my vision and everything before me becomes clearer.

"Nine thirty, Sleeping Beauty," she twitters and circles around my office throwing away my hard-earned coffee cups and chip bags and straightening some of my picture frames. She's always after me about being a slob, which I kind of am, but she's bordering dangerously close to OCD with her tidy tendencies. What can I say? Opposites attract. "Up! Up! The newer new law department guy is going to be here soon for that _thing_."

"What thing?" I ask, rubbing the last scraps of sleep out of my eyes and stretching some vitality back into my limbs. I guess four hours of sleep will have to suffice for today. How many Saturdays would it take to make up for three months of sleep deprivation? "Gorgeous skirt, by the way."

"Eh, you know the thing with the stuff. She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named wanting to sue us or whatever and thank you… it's ours." Caroline looks down at her knee-length white eyelet tulip skirt and smiles with a one-shouldered shrug. The skirt must have been from our new line (more like Caroline's new line), which is a bid to get back to our Southern roots: simple, feminine, classic.

"Ugh, I can't even deal with that right now. Can't we just send her a poison fruit basket and be done with it, Snow White style? And why did we get a newer new law department guy?" I groan, somewhat distracted by shaking my few remaining cups searching for even a drop of caffeinated nectar. I'm usually much more on top of the workings of the company and I do feel a little guilty that I have no idea where we are in the _Saga of the Imperiled Law Department_. All I know the old new guy (we've been going through _a lot_ of lawyers as of late) accepted our termination letter without any argument… and fast. I'm guessing it had something to do with She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Twenty dollars says that there was a promise of a hefty payday involved, but Caroline's betting there were some threats thrown out. When I think more about it, either option is completely plausible. I thought that the new new guy we hired after him was still around. Guess not.

"Because the old new new one is letting us get sued!" Caroline replies with a playful eye roll. How she gets all of this energy is beyond me, I've never even seen girlfriend with a cup of coffee in her life but she's _always_ like this. "Besides this guy is supposed to be super smart, like top-of-his-class-at-Yale smart, _and_ he does a ton of _pro bono_ work at Sierra Club and Earth Justice."

"Swell, I'm sure he'll be a peach," I mumble sarcastically and pull a pocket mirror out of my desk drawer to touch up my puffy, exhausted face. I've got nothing against the green agenda, in fact _Chateau Verveine_ is making huge strides in sustainability, but I've dealt with these Ivy League types and their egos before. Our first attorney attempted to take us to the cleaners, misguidedly thinking that two teenagers from the sticks without a college education wouldn't see his poorly veiled attempt at a corporate take-over coming. Well, wrong day, wrong girls Mr. Big Shot. Caroline and I spent thirteen days straight at the New York City Public Library reading legalese and district precedent and guess what he's doing now? Trying to get truckers out of their DUIs in some fleabag law office in Vegas. No one messes with Carolena and gets away with it. _No one_.

"Also someone mentioned something about him being super hot, and I figured hey, we need a little more eye candy around here," Caroline added nonchalantly and plops down on the armchair across from my desk examining her perfectly pink manicured nails. When did she have time to get those done? It's official, she's a vampire who never sleeps.

"Care, you and I both know that's the first thing you thought of," I laugh and comb hasty fingers through my hair. I feel like hell, and if I look even half as bad as this I'm going to chase this guy off before we get through the standard introductions.

"True, that Yale thing and the other stuff is just a bonus," she winks mischievously. "Now get up, and for the love of Prada, _please_ brush your teeth before he shows up. I don't want you to kill the hot guy with your dragon breath."

"Whoa, whoa, hold up. Why am _I_ seeing this guy? You're more up to speed on everything. I just woke up and I haven't slept in ages. I'm going to make us look like a bumbling gaggle of idiots. Plus, I'm in a bad mood and I was thinking about bouncing early to take a nap in my actual bed."

"My dear, sweet, _single_ Elena," Caroline sighs dramatically and leans over my desk like she is about to lecture me. "Did you miss the part about him being totally smoking hot?"

"No, but I just—oh my god, Caroline! You are not setting me up with the law guy! That's not even ethical!" It finally dawned on me; this was another sneaky Forbes dating ambush. This is the second time this month! I really need to be more observant. Last week she tried to set me up with the barista at the Starbucks downstairs based on some "coffee compatibility" rubric she designed while waiting in line. However, two cappuccino preferences do not a relationship make and he bored me nearly to death fifteen minutes into our lunch date. I had to fake a fabric shipment emergency and hide from Caroline in the mailroom for the sake of my sanity. Kind of a win in the end though, because I finished seventeen more levels of Candy Crush in the mailroom and got a cat nap in on a stack of padded mailers.

"What? Why not? Nic thinks you guys will really hit it off," she whines with her big blue eyes shining with innocence and dammit! She can make herself look just as pitiable as she did in kindergarten when she used that same look to get us out of trouble for writing on the walls with crayons.

"Nic knows this guy?" I question with a raised eyebrow. Don't get me wrong, I'm Team Niklaus all the way. Dude shows up out of nowhere a year ago with his elegant accent and European charm and swept Caroline right off her feet, and rightfully so; they're the perfect couple and someday they better make me the godmother of their adorable blonde babies. _But_ , ever since breezing into our lives Nic has been Caroline's primary accomplice in Mission: Single No More. I think it's their collective opinion that because they're so damn happy in their relationship that I'm entitled, nay _required_ , to be equally happy in a relationship of my own. I want Mr. Right just as much as the next girl, but I've got a lot on my plate right now and, despite was Caroline and Nic believe, I _am_ happy. Who cares that I go home to an empty flat every night and warm up take-away left-overs for one? Certainly not me. I'm single and I'm happy and anyone who thinks otherwise can bite me.

"They rowed crew together at Yale. Come on, Elena. _Crew_! Just imagine, spending a ski vacation in Jackson Hole wrapped up in those sculpted arms in front of a giant granite fireplace. He can tell you stories about fighting corporate America and saving cute, furry little animals and climbing redwoods. And you can wear his flannel shirts that probably smell like pine needles and heroism," she says dreamily while she twirls a lock of hair around her finger. Where does she get this crap from?

"No, and we _are_ corporate America," I gently remind her. I don't even let myself consider that it might be kind of nice to curl up in front of the fire with someone, because it would be… nope, she's not going to break me down on this one. Stay strong, Gilbert!

"Oh come on, El," Caroline huffs and drops her elbows onto the armrest of her chair indignantly. "It's not like I arranged a marriage for you, I just found a hot, professional, available man whose ass you can ogle instead of procrastinating on the new line."

Yikes! Here that clucking? Those are my uninspired chickens coming home to roost in the form of Caroline flipping her noodle when she sees my empty sketchbook.

"About that, I—"

"Have nothing. I know, but no worries because I have it all covered," she smiles and I actually believe her. She pulls her perfectly organized sketchbook out of her leather handbag and slides it across my desk. I stare at her for a moment before flipping through the pages to see sheet after sheet of beautiful, perfectly-on-point designs.

"You have the entire line," I gawp like a fish. It's official: I am the worst business partner ever. I need to get something truly great for her for Christmas. I wonder if I can find a unicorn online.

"I'm sorry did you want to show up to Fashion Week with half of a collection? Besides I got some ideas that just went crazy and I couldn't stop myself."

"Jeez, Care. These are gorgeous." I'm especially in love with a cute cropped denim blazer she paired with a seersucker peplum skirt. I can see that on about a thousand young and upcoming stars at Cannes.

"You think so? It's not too hick-y. I don't want people to feel like we're riding the whole Southern Charm thing too far," Caroline asks in that voice that I instantly knew as the I'm-super-confident-but-sometimes-I-need-a-little-reassurance voice.

"Not at all, these are… they're perfect." And yeah, _perfect_ is the only word I could use to describe the pages of gauzy sundresses with subtle feminine details and adorably wearable linen crop pants. Once again, Caroline saved our skins.

"Thanks, that means a lot to me," she smiles and squeezes my hand in what has become our grown-up secret handshake.

"Now!" she claps and jumps up from her chair while tossing a tube of lip-gloss at me in one fluid motion. "Let's get you ready to meet New Law Guy! And it wouldn't kill you to keep the Queen Castration glare under wraps while he's here."

"I do _not_ have a Queen Castration glare?" I remark indignantly and Caroline just stares back at me with skeptically crossed arms. I suppose I might have a bit of an intimidating look when I mean business. "What? I don't."

"Sure you don't. Just try not to chase this one away like the cute mail guy we had. Your lady parts might thank me someday."

Best. Friends. Forever.


	2. Chapter 2

"Goddamn," I hear someone announce from my doorway. My mind instantly jumped to the list of about a thousand things that could be melting down right now because it's just been _that_ kind of week. Just please tell me that our fabric shipment didn't get delayed in a hurricane somewhere or one of our models decided to go AWOL in favor of a Buddhist meditation retreat. Laugh now, but it's happened before and it's a bitch to try to get a hold of people at those places. I mean really, it's 2016 and you're really going to ban cell phones? "A wall of windows and you're still burning two-hundred-and-fifty CFLs? Our planet commends your conscientiousness Ms. _Verveine_."

Really? That's it? My flipping _light bulbs_? Suppress eye roll Elena, you are a professional. I looked up from my perilously blank sketchpad to put Mr. Holier-than-thou Hippie Tree Hugger in his place but… _Ho-ly hell on whole wheat_. I must be delirious from lack of sleep because there is no way I'm seeing what I'm actually seeing now. _The_ most gorgeous man I've ever seen is leaning on my doorjamb speaking beautiful words to me. He's on the other side of my office, but even still I can tell that his eyes are the color of a crystal clear summer sky; I'd like to pour that blue into an enamel and make chunky necklaces and chandelier earrings for years with it. The piercing blue is made even more dramatic by his glossy raven black hair and alabaster skin. I almost wonder if there's been some technology created to Photoshop real life because he's damn near perfect from ten feet away.

And gah! His suit! Armani? Whoever made that beautiful garment must have personally tailored it for Mr. Eco Hottie. It fits him like a glove and hugs all the right places in a way that was totally mouth-watering without sacrificing class. He shifts his shoulders slightly, welcoming the light at a different angle and the black fabric deepened into a deep never-ending oiled blue, definitely Armani. That color was the talk of the town when he premiered it in Paris over the summer, for good reason— it's magnificent. I can see the neckline of a midnight blue vest peeking out around the jacket. That's old school and drives me _insane_ ; I love a debonair well-dressed man. If he's packing a pocket square against his chest or polished wingtips I might as well just hand him my panties _and_ my dignity. We've really got to get into the male suit industry. I'm not sure we could ever compete with that though, _that_ suit on _that_ man is a freaking work of art. It belongs in a museum. And yes, that _is_ my professional opinion.

This must be new new law guy, Damien or Darwin or something like that. Caroline was so far off base with her flannel and Timberland fantasy because this guy is wearing the hell out of his designer suit. I catch the faint scent of cologne and it smells like Polo, which is unfortunately my favorite and makes my heart speed up a few beats without my permission. I expected much more beard and horn-rim glasses based on Caroline's description, but I am certainly not disappointed.

"And you are?" I finally manage with a detached all-business air; I even muster a raised eyebrow to match. I'm so distracted by the artistry of this man's appearance that I forgot that I hated him, but now I remember.

"Damon Salvatore, _esquire_ ," he emphasizes his title as he saunters over towards me and slides his brief case onto my desk, nudging my coffee cup aside. No one touches Elena Gilbert's coffee… no one. I hate that even his _name_ is sexy. Damon Salvatore. A name like 'Damon' isn't meant to be bashfully whispered between giggles and blushing, that's a screaming name if I've ever heard one. "Otherwise known as the guy who's going to get you un-sued Ms. V _erveine_."

I already dislike this cocky, arrogant, beautiful jerk and suddenly, I'm not so wild about that suit either. Up close, the seams aren't as crisp as they could be and the fabric quality leaves a bit to be desired. Personally, I would have gone for worsted wool for something like that, but the texture is just a bit too fine for that to be the case. And seriously, black shoes with that suit? He should have gone for dark grey leather. I mean, this guy is defending a major fashion house, is he not?

One of the biggest accomplishments in my adult life was building this business from the ground up and maintaining my leadership over it so I didn't have to answer and grovel to jerks like this. If he thinks his fancy title is going to get him somewhere special around here he's in for a whole lot of disappointment. He's lucky he's trying to pull this crap with me first, Caroline would have had his head on a spike if he walked in her office with the over-the-top swagger and condescending tone. It kind of makes me wonder how they get along outside of the office; Nic must be a superb buffer between them.

"Well, I'm sure my assistant would be happy to set you up with an appointment at a more appropriate date and time," I say, trying to politely dismiss him from my office even though I can feel my face start to heat up with anger. If he's even half as smart as Caroline claimed, he'll get the hint.

"She said I could come on in," he shrugs and circles my office looking at the pictures on my wall. He already seems comfortable in _my_ space and that makes me even more irritated. "Nice girl."

"Fine, I have a few minutes," I mutter, knowing that he won't give up. And let's be honest, it's not like I'm just in the middle of some idea streak that I'm worried about breaking. "What do you need from me?"

"Cheerleader, how novel," Damon Salvatore, _Esquire_ , remarks with a lewd undertone as he stares at a picture of Caroline and I from our senior homecoming pep rally.

"Excuse me?"

"You and Blondie were cheerleaders. Her, I get. You, however, have much too sunny of a disposition for something as grim as cheerleading." _Blondie_? Really? Who does this guy think he is?

"Can we get to the point? I really don't have time to sit around and entertain your self-indulgent sense of superiority."

"Easy Tigress. _I'm_ the one helping _you_ here and this is my process."

"Creeping on my high school photographs is your ' _process_?'"

"Yep," he answers popping the 'p' with an irritating level of arrogance. "How can I go to court for you if I don't know who you are, Sweetheart?"

"First of all, my name is Elena Gilbert. Second of all, just ask me what you want to know. I'm rather busy so I'd appreciate it if you'd be brief."

"Busy staring at that empty page some more, Elena Gilbert?" he smirks irritatingly and perches himself in one of the chairs on the other side of my desk, resting his ankle on his opposite knee and beaming with a sadly misplaced sense of I've-got-you-all-figured-out bravado.

"It's my process," I reply with best snide voice, which wasn't hard considering the fact that being in this man's presence was like having lemon juice dripped into your eye… incessantly. With contacts in. Contacts made of sand paper. Sand paper and more lemon juice.

"Do you even know why you're being sued?" he asks and lazily inspects my name placard.

 _Oh._

 _Hell._

 _Nah._

I would like to think that he wouldn't be so stupid as to insinuate that I am uninformed about the lawsuit we're facing, but he seems like that type. He's the type of guy who's all confidence and arrogance on the outside, but I'd bet a hundred yards of hand-stamped batik silk that he wants to feel needed. He wants to feel like a special snowflake who is uniquely suited for something. Normally, I've got a soft spot for people like that but he's already on my bad side. Poor bastard.

"You're kidding me right now, right?" I say as I stand up with the intention of towering over him. Thank you, Caroline, for talking me into these ridiculous five-inch Chanel stilettos. Coco really knew how to make a girl feel like a badass and I'm loving my vantage point. Cheers to you, sister.

"I didn't think it was that funny."

"What exactly do you take me as, Mr. Salvatore— that because I make pretty dresses and jewelry I must be some ignorant ingénue in need of a corporate rescue?" I ask and lean against my desk directly in front of him, silently daring him to break eye contact with me. To his credit, he doesn't but I could tell he wanted to. I _love_ making them squirm.

"I never said that. You just don't seem like the kind of girl that bothers with the boring legal details."

"I'm certainly not, I'm the kind of _woman_ that knows every, single, 'boring' detail of this company. We need to get one thing straight before we start. You are working for _me_. I know this company inside and out, and if I had time between designing, marketing, and keeping track of our corporate finances I would be defending our case in court myself. That makes you _just_ the next best thing. Don't _ever_ walk in here again with stupid pet names and implying that I am uninformed of the workings of my own company. Try it again and I'll put you out on your ass so fast it will make your head spin and I'll make sure all of my well-connected colleagues in the greater New York metro know what an arrogant, self-absorbed cad you are. Are we clear?"

"Cad?" he asks with a tight smile that is begging to lighten the atmosphere. Pretty Damon probably isn't used to being challenged, particularly by women. I take a second to bask in the glory.

"It looks like Damon Salvatore, E _squire_ , has some vocabulary homework for the evening. There's the door, don't come back until you have something worth my time."

And there it is… "the look." It's the look of someone who has just been soundly bested at his own game. I don't exactly take pride in busting peoples' proverbial nether-spheres but sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Whether it's my lack of formal education, the fact that I'm a woman, my age, or my background, I've been underestimated one too many times. At first I just accepted it as the way things were, but no longer. My mom always told me that we make our own way in the world and that's exactly what I've been doing, one gob-stopped jerk at a time.

I don't even credit Damon with a second glance as I hear my office door creak open. I look back to the blank sketchpad in front of me and a brilliant idea comes to mind.

Power suit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi readers, I realized how short the last chapter was so here's a bonus chapter for the evening. Happy reading!**

Last night was soundly in the upgrade column from yesterday day. I had a dinner that didn't go through a microwave on its way to my stomach, savored a glass of Napa pinot, _and_ I made it into my actual bed by midnight. After a week of sleeping on my desk or curled up in a ball on my sofa I nearly forgot what a proper mattress and a soft pillow could do for your outlook on life.

My walk into work this morning was brisk but lovely. I dive into my routine with all the energy of a woman who had a full night's sleep and a real breakfast. I watch blankly as the red digits on the elevator panel counted up to our floor. 35. Mail out after-party invitations. 36. Confirm the vegan menu with our caterer. 37. Return that _Vogue_ editor's call about VIP passes. 38. Call my dad for his birthday. 39. Remember to eat lunch today. 40. Game face on. 41. Show time.

As soon as the lift dinged pleasantly to herald the arrival at our office and the brushed steel doors slid open I am cursing the universe and its limitless ability to ruin my good day. Damon freaking Salvatore is leaning against the semi-circular reception desk with two cups of coffee and that same annoying smirk he had plastered on his stupidly handsome face yesterday. I mean, seriously, can't this guy just smile with both sides of his mouth? Jackass.

Sexy, gorgeous jackass. Nice ass. Quite nice, actually… I hate this guy.

I give him an expressionless glance and immediately start towards my office. I really don't feel like getting into it with him first thing in the morning. I wonder how easily I could pawn him off on Caroline or one of our senior associates; I know April has been wanting more management responsibility but I worry that Damon would devour her. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him swipe the coffee cups off of the desk and take a few long strides to catch up with me.

"A man who behaves dishonorably, especially towards a woman," Damon explains with a light and almost musical lilt to his voice. I can tell by the way he angled his tone up at the end that he was hoping I'd forgotten all about our run-in yesterday.

"You did your homework," I reply blandly. Someone give this man a cookie, he's proven he can operate a dictionary properly or at the very least type a three letter word into the Google search bar. I still don't like him or his deep, velvety voice or his chiseled physique. I don't even care that he's probably rocking a wicked six-pack under that slim-fit blazer, and I am certainly _not_ at all swayed by that mop of glossy ebony hair on top of his brilliant Rhodes scholar head.

Yeah, I _may_ have glanced over his CV last night, _very_ casually and only out of professional interest. I've always thought that the sexiest thing that a man can be is smart and, based on his GPA and publishing list, Damon is incredibly smart. If he weren't so obnoxious I would have swooned when I read his triple major from Yale: political science, English literature, and Russian. He was a Peace Corps volunteer, Columbia Law alum, and trilingual. But like I said, I'm not impressed. What? I'm not!

"And you're right, I was a _cad_ yesterday. I'd like to apologize. I'm kind of new to town and I'm not used to the big city way of business yet. I didn't mean anything by what I said, just trying to make awkwardly inappropriate conversation. So, start over?" he asks with an almost full smile and extends one of the piping hot Starbucks cups in my direction. Goddammit— Café Verona. It's my favorite blend and I'd know that rich, earthy aroma anywhere. If Caroline shared that tidbit with him I swear I will send her to an early, unmarked, and _very_ unfabulous grave.

"Tentatively," I agree and take the cup. I motion with my head for him to follow me into my office. I dump my purse and portfolio on my desk and flip my computer monitor on as he makes himself comfortable. "Now, as part of the start-over process, I'd like to know what you know about our case already and what you intend to do about it."

"I only know what Caroline has told me: that you had a designer who bailed to a competitor and is now suing for copyright infringement since you're using some of the designs that she claimed belong to her." Well, he got the gist of it at least but I really doubt that's _all_ that Caroline shared with him. She'd never leave out the juicier details regarding the _real_ reason that this has turned into a melodramatic battle of snide subpoenas and snarky cease-and-desist letters.

"And do you think that they are, in fact, _her_ designs?" I ask, trying not to bristle too much. It's not just about the designs because we could do better, it's more about the whole crappy situation, but I'll get into that in a second.

"I think that your employment contract is iron-clad and your intellectual property clause is _very_ clear that they are, unequivocally, _Chateau Verveine_ 's designs." Good man. P.S. _I_ drew up that contract, thank you again New York City Public Library and your gloriously free heaps of all-you-can-consume knowledge.

"Are you familiar with the plaintiff's attorney?"

"Elijah Smith. Top of his class at Oxford, class of 2005, endowed lectureship at Harvard in property law, ninety-eight per cent success rate when his cases actually go to court, but he prefers to settle them out of court and they _always_ go in his favor," Damon answers and I'd know that tone anywhere: male competition. Something tells me that the rivalry between Blue Eyes and Elijah goes a touch deeper than strictly professional. I made a mental note to grill Caroline and Nic about that later.

"So what makes you think that you can beat him?"

"He's good, I'll give him that, maybe even great but I'm better." And there's that damn smirk again. I have to kind of admire his gumption though. I guess if he's earned his arrogance he's a good fit for this case.

"How so?" I ask and I'm genuinely interested because I get the feeling that we're going to need someone like Damon to win.

"I know my client, I know the case, I know every detail. I can work a jury and the press _loves_ me. I leave nothing to chance. I don't go to court unless I know that I'm going to win." Smirk.

"Cocky much?"

"Very much." Smirk.

"And I'm assuming that you _are_ aware that the designer who is suing us is Elijah Smith's fiancée?"

"Of course, he never would have taken this case otherwise! He's not an idiot, he knows that Katherine Pierce doesn't have an iota of credibility in this case. All I can say is that I hope the sex is fucking fantastic because he's about to be very publicly beaten at his own game." Damon answers confidently and maybe, just _maybe_ , I'm starting not to hate him that much. Although the thought of Katherine Pierce having sex with anyone kind of makes me feel sick because…

"I'm also assuming that you know that Katherine _Gilbert_ is my little sister?"

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that part? Yep, my own sister is trying to steal my company _after_ I paid for some over-the-top design program she was dying to attend _and_ gave her a job straight off the graduation podium. I'm not sure what's worse: the unbearable anger or the sense of betrayal because they both suck pretty badly. To make matters worse she had to get herself shacked up with the best business attorney in town knowing that Caroline and I weren't in a position to spend a fortune on legal services. I'd be surprised if she's interested in Elijah at all beyond using him as a very valuable pawn in her petty game of sisterly rivalry. I knew things were going to get ugly the day she changed her last name, no longer wanting to be associated with the sister who ruined her life— me.

"I do, which is why I'll go easy on them," he winks mischievously. "Wouldn't want Christmas dinner to be awkward."

"We're light years past awkward and treading dangerously close to openly hostile, so don't let that interfere with your defense at all," I growl. I have to be angry with Katherine because it's less painful than the other options. I can't really afford to think of her as the little sister I walked to Brownie's or taught how to tie her shoes. If I think about the way she jumped on my bed when she was six years old, excited because she lost her first tooth and wanted me to help her sew a tooth-fairy pouch, it breaks my heart. I can only see her as the corporate competition, it's self-preservation.

"Duly noted," Damon frowns and I caught a quick shade of pity cross his features.

"You really think we can win?" I ask after a long pause. I can't even tell you how much I wanted, _needed_ , him to win this for us. _Chateau Verveine_ is everything to me and, as sad as it sounds, it's all I have. And yes, of course Katherine knows that. I have more than a sneaking suspicion that's why she's so freaking set on this lawsuit.

"I'm going to do my damnedest," he answers with a conviction that calms my nerves. Then he leans forward and looks me straight in the eye. "We're not losing your company, Elena."

Ok, I don't completely _hate_ Damon Salvatore.

 **How about filling that comment box, eh?**


	4. Chapter 4

After our start-over sesh I allowed myself to admit that Damon might not be a horrible addition to our team. He's smart, he's savvy, and he's determined to win; all qualities I greatly admire in a colleague. I'm not going to be inviting the guy over to snuggle in front of the fireplace so we can feed each other organic fair-trade strawberries, much to Caroline's chagrin, but I was able to end the day without an overwhelming feeling of defeat for the first time in a long time. In fact, I was in such a generous mood that I even overlooked his obscene innuendos and rampant elevator eyes. I tried keeping track of all of the sexual harassment policy infringements he brazenly committed today but I lost count after eighty-four. He seriously asked me if I wanted a "side of Salvatore" with my bacon and egg sandwich; he looked almost proud when I told him I didn't take anything that was "over easy." I guess it's not the _worst_ working relationship on the planet.

I even got a few designs drawn out today. They're nowhere near good enough for Fashion Week but it's a start. I had planned to leave early and walk through Central Park, which always inspires me to create; I am thinking that really studying the architecture of the bridges may connect something about the angles in my designs that I just can't get perfect. My plans to skip out at three were derailed by a conference call with _Harper's Bazaar_ that went way over time but also got us an exclusive seven-page spread for their fall looks issue so win-win. I am, however, now thoroughly exhausted, hungry, and aching for an evening zoning out in front of the TV.

I gather my things and cram them into my overstuffed messenger bag. I'm going through my mental evening checklist when I hear a loud giggle outside my office door: Rebekah Mikaelson, my assistant. She's nice enough and satisfactorily competent, she wants so badly to be a designer so she gives 110% every day. The other employees seem to like her and she has a good eye for fabric purchases. She is, however, a shameless flirt and I still haven't forgiven her for giving Damon the keys to the castle so easily yesterday. Caroline is always telling me that she's just a normal twenty-something and I should be less of a harpy to her so I make an earnest attempt to be nice to her but there are times when that's not so easy. Right now would be one of those times.

She's all perky and lovely perched in her desk chair with her legs tucked under her little pilates bottom gazing up at Damon like he's the answer to some prayer she's been praying for a long time. And him, ugh, he's just eating it up like one of those scummy gutter pigeons out on the sidewalk. He's got his tie loosened around his neck and he's sitting on her desk leaning way too close to her to be having a professional conversation. He'd shed his suit jacket at some point and has his shirtsleeves rolled up just below his elbows. Crew has been good to him. Just sayin'.

"You didn't?" Rebekah gasps and stifles a giggle and blushes with an earnestness I haven't seen since high school. I've always assumed that she was a smart girl, she has to know that she's falling right into Damon's trap.

"I did," Damon smirks and it's all self-satisfaction and I-can't-believe-it's-this-easy-to-get-laid-around-here swagger. I imagine how sweet it would be to pepper spray him right at this moment.

"You weren't scared of being bitten?" my gullible assistant queries with starry eyes and pink cheeks. Could she be anymore oblivious?

"I thought about it later when I was back on the boat, but in the moment I just wanted to get her out of that drift net. Sharks aren't as bad as everyone makes them out to be, they're actually some of the most majestic and fascinating animals I've ever encountered. They're graceful, powerful, mysterious…" he lists with a sleazy lilt, walking his fingers up Rebekah's arm.

You have _got_ to be freaking kidding me.

"I could never do that," Rebekah peeps, her eyes as big as the silver hoops weaving through her ear lobes.

"It's all instinct," Damon says in a low, gravelly tone that would be more at home bouncing off greasy bricks in the back alley of some seedy dive bar than in my office. "You see the opportunity to make a difference and it all just clicks into place. It's like your subconscious, global mind just takes over and you know that you were meant to be there in that moment. I wasn't even thinking 'hey, I'm going to save that shark,' it's like something higher was driving me to save a _life_. It's humbling, really."

Oh. My. God. Do women really fall for that garbage? I don't think he is even serious. There is no way Rebekah is that oblivious. This has to be some performance art tableau critiquing society's unrealistic expectations of men or something like that; it's the only logical explanation.

"Wow, that's so incredible," she sighs and gazes at Damon like he just became her hero. Scratch that, she _is_ that oblivious. Judging by the look on Damon's face, which I can only describe as childlike glee, he must have been fairly certain that he had the golden ticket to Rebekah's bed for the evening. I can't tell if I"m imaging the bile roiling up in the back of my throat or that I am, in fact, just truly _that_ disgusted. This man is infuriating; one minute I think he's ok and then the next he's doing something like this. I can't _not_ say something; I mean… come on!

"Fantastic story, I must have missed that Patron Saint of Defenseless Sharks entry on your CV," I snark because I just couldn't take anymore. If Rebekah wasn't going to call him out on his pathetic attempt to get under her skirt then I will. I pin him with my best you're-full-of-bullshit glare; I'm proud that he shirks a bit before he builds the gall to meet my eye-to-eye. Maybe this is what Caroline was talking about with the Queen Castration glare.

"It's on there," he smirks at me before turning his attention back to Rebekah. "I had to make a separate section for all my non-profit work. It's really important to me."

"Wow," I mutter to myself. My next comment is cut off when Damon's phone starts to ring in his pocket.

"Sorry, excuse me just one moment, I have to take this," he excuses himself and slips off of Rebekah's desk gracefully, I mean _grossly_ , and winks at her as he walks by. "Hi sweetie… Daddy misses you too baby girl…" Ugh, vile. I look over at Rebekah, hoping she caught that, but she's too busy staring at her compact mirror and shellacking her lips with something way-too-fruity for a woman her age. I'm out.

I'm so out. Damon's weird, kinky personal life is none of my business and if Rebekah can't see it for what it is then woe unto her. I have a date with a bottle of wine and Tivo. I make my way to the elevator, probably stomping more loudly than I intended, and punch the button with gusto. I stare at the polished doors, grinding my teeth against irritation. I try to remind myself of one of my mom's favorite phrases: _honey, pearls start out as irritating bits of sand_. Damon must be one hell of a pearl because he's a sand _storm_.

"Goodnight, Elena," Damon irritatingly warbles from somewhere behind me. I wave my hand over my head without even turning around and focus on the little red triangle light, breathing a sigh of relief when it lit up in the 'down' position and the doors opened.

Can he really be serious? Sharks? I mean, come on. It's just so… so… argh, I don't even know, but it's so _something_. It's so something that makes me want to knock him down a few pegs. Who actually talks like that: _your subconscious, global mind just takes over_. What kind of hippy-dippy tree-hugger crap is that? He's probably never even seen a shark outside of Shark Week before and just steals adventure stories from the last page of _National Geographic_ to get into girls' panties. He's probably some smarmy predatory d-bag who hangs out at the college bars in town because there's no way that a grown woman with half a brain in her head would fall for that. He has got to be the most arrogant, pig-headed, insufferable… _ding_. I'm so distracted by my thoughts that I hardly notice when I reach the ground floor.

Thankfully there is no one around in the main lobby to notice that I was just stuck in the open lift like a moron staring at nothing. I compose myself and head straight to the turnstiles that officially mark my workday as being over with a simple turn of their brass arms. I took one crummy inopportune moment to check my iPhone messages just as I bumped the turnstile handle with my hip. Had I not been staring at the seventeen stupid e-mails I received in the last five minutes I probably would have noticed that the strap of my bag was stuck. I yank my stupid bag because patience isn't my strong suit and boom! Papers everywhere.

I regret two things immediately: cramming that thing so damn full and not getting the strap fixed when Caroline made the comment about it fraying six months ago. I'm kind of glad she wasn't there for the 'toldya so' points. I'm still on my knees, cursing myself, and scraping up my things when another hand brushes against mine. I am about to politely excuse them when I very clearly see a Yale signet perched on one of the fingers. Fuck me.

"Would not have pegged you for a pack rat, Elena," Damon Salvatore. Again. Goody.

"Would not have pegged you for desperate, so color us both surprised." Rude? Yes. Uncalled for? Probably. True? Definitely. But give me a break: it's late, I'm tired, I'm hangry, he's annoying.

"What? Ah, Bex? I was just having a bit of fun and she seemed like she could use a pick-me-up at the end of the day. Between you and me, I think you intimidate her a little."

"I intimidate a _lot_ of people, that pretty much comes with the territory of being a successful woman in this town," I answer sarcastically and swipe a stack of my things from Damon's hands to shove in my bag. I've never done well with being flustered. Caroline usually calls a time out on me because I become a raging bitch in situations like this. I admit it and I'm working on it. These things take time. Admitting that there _is_ a problem is the first step. "How did you even get down here so fast?"

"The stairs. Does a body good. If you don't mind me saying, you seem like you need a stiff drink and a night off, Elena Gilbert."

"Yeah, I'll pencil that in between the thirteen thousands things I have to do before tomorrow morning."

"Ever think you may work too much?" he asks with a smile, at least it sounds like he's smiling. Honestly, I'm blushing too much out of embarrassment to meet his gaze.

"Please, spare me the welfare speech. You sound like Caroline."

"Maybe she's just looking out for you," Damon offers in an uncharacteristically soft tone. Somehow I get the feeling that there's more to this guy than meets the eye. Either that, or he's way too good at pretending to care. I'm trying really hard to remind myself that he's a jerk. _Elena, remember the shark story from seven seconds ago._ Oh right, I loathe him again.

"I can take care of myself and there's only so many times I can handle 'Elena you need a vacation. Elena, you need a hobby. Elena, you need a boyfriend,' in a week."

"No hobbies and no boyfriend, huh?" he chuckles and damnit if I don't blush some more. I didn't mean to let that last part slip, and especially not to _him_. He's probably got an entire harem of gorgeous women at his beck and call and a little black book the size of Gutenberg's Bible, which only makes my lack of even a solitary romantic interest more pathetic.

"I have hobbies, for your information." And that's it, the last of my mess is snugly back in my disintegrating bag and I'm more than ready to exit stage right on this disintegrating evening. "Thank you and goodnight," I bid in a hasty adieu.

"Until tomorrow," he smiles and it's an almost real, two-sided smile. I'd like to think it was borne out of simple decency and not pity, but I'm guessing it was pity. If the situation was reversed, I'd pity me: the lonely, workaholic spinster who's such a hot mess she can't even keep her bag together long enough to get out the front door in one piece.

I finally make it out of the revolving doors of the lobby when an icy blast of wind whips through my hair and right through my skin. Goody! Now I'm irritated, hangry, _and_ cold. I'm a Southern girl, I _hate_ the cold. I try to grin and bear it every year when my parents come up for the holidays and want to walk down 5th Avenue to see the Christmas displays in the stores but in reality there's nothing running through my head but a never-ending chain of profane words.

I give myself the walk back to my flat to be pissy about what happened in the lobby but as soon as I open my front door I let it all go. I slip quietly into the sanctuary of my apartment and kick off my shoes. A deep breath brings the scent of lavender and lilies into my lungs and all is right with the world. I'm not a homebody by any stretch, but home is the one place that I can unwind and relax without someone asking for my signature or my opinion every five minutes. I live alone so I don't need to worry about making it awkward when I peel my skirt and blouse off in the living room and collapse onto my couch in my underwear unless Jaws, my faithful goldfish, has longer than a twenty-second memory.

I pull a handmade Afghan throw over myself before I dial the first number of my speed dial list.

" _Hi sweetheart!_ " my mom's jubilant voice sounds from the other end of the line and just like that, my chest constricts with the familiar longing of my _real_ home. " _How is your big show coming along?_ "

"Hi Mom, it's fine. Caroline's been doing most of the work so it's going to be awesome." I have to laugh because it's true and my mom knows that. She was a first-hand witness to the start of Caroline's event planning obsession when she was elected to the dance planning committee in middle school. My mom laughs a bit, too, and I know she's remembering a very vivid Caroline meltdown concerning cardboard stars and the wrong grain of glitter.

" _Oh Liz and I cannot wait to come up there and see you girls in action. We already booked our flights and rented a car. We went all out and got a Mustang_ and _it's a convertible. We figured, 'our girls are famous, what the hay?_ '" God, I miss my mom. " _Are you getting enough sleep, honey? You sound tired._ "

"I'm ok, just busy is all."

" _Not too busy, I hope. You know Dr. Martin has been talking about there's a flu going around. Have you heard of it? It's one of those animal flus, bird flu or badger flu or something, anyways, it's been going around like wildfire here. Carol Lockwood got it and she was in bed for three days straight, she missed the Founder's parade and everything. Can you believe that? Three days straight. Anyways, Dr. Martin was telling her that she wasn't getting enough sleep, but you know Carol, wouldn't take no for an answer and worked herself ragged getting everything ready for the parade. The morning of, she woke up with a fever, chills, the whole bit. She couldn't even leave the house. Poor Tyler was on his Bluetooth all day relaying Carol's messages to everyone. The parade was still lovely, all things considered. You should have seen the high school's float; for_ once _they didn't choose the_ Gone With the Wind _theme. It's was a nice change._ "

"That really sucks about Mrs. Lockwood," I hope the smile isn't too obvious in my voice. Not that I wish Carol Lockwood ill will or anything like that, I just think it's slightly funny that the mayor's wife getting the flu counts as news in my hometown.

" _It certainly does. So make sure you're getting enough sleep and eating balanced meals. I know you, Elena, you get so focused on work that you forget to take care of yourself. I don't want you getting sick for your big day_."

"I won't Mom," I smiled and made it obvious this time. My mom had some freakish sixth sense about these things and if I didn't sell it I could expect a box of chicken noodle soup and saltines overnighted to me tomorrow. "Is Daddy around?"

" _He sure is. We just got back from his birthday dinner at the Fells. You ought to see their new gazebo, honey, it's outrageous. Logan mail-ordered the plans from some Amish lumber mill in Pennsylvania and put it together backwards. Backwards! Poor Luka had to take it apart piece by piece and put it back together in two days. Anyways, let me get your father,_ " my mom tried to cover the receiver with her hand, but she never quite covers the whole thing so I can always hear her yell for my dad, sometimes if I listen really carefully I can hear him answer back. " _He'll be right down_."

"Thanks Mom."

" _Here he is, remember what I said about sleeping enough?_ "

"I will."

" _Good. Talk to you soon, sweetie. I love you._ "

"I love you too, Mom. 'Night." The shuffling on the other end of the line gave me a second to prepare myself. I'm a total daddy's girl and I miss him like crazy. It's been a rough week and I know that hearing his voice is going to make me all homesick and emotional.

" _Hi sweetheart_."

"Happy birthday, Daddy!" I squeal excitedly.

" _I got your card just this morning, it made a fine addition to my office._ "

"Isn't your office getting a little crowded?" There's no way it's _not_ crowded. My dad is an entomologist at the local university and ever since I could remember the walls of his workspace have been generously coated with stacks of dried butterflies, exotic beetles, and our artwork. When my brother, Jeremy, got into photography in high school he nearly had to apply to the chancellor for a bigger office but Jeremy and his wife, Anna, got him one of those digital picture frames for Christmas and ta-da… problem solved.

" _Would the Uffizi turn a Botticelli away?_ " I giggle a little at that. Only my dad would compare a birthday card to _Primavera_. " _Exactly. Besides, if it ever gets crowded I'll just get a bigger office._ "

"You're crazy."

" _Crazy proud of my kids, can't fault me for that. So how are things?_ "

"They're ok, a little busy, but it's all good. Care and I are finishing up with the show," I can feel a gloom cloud coming. It's either going to be the sister talk or the relationship talk. I'd bet my new Louboutins on the former.

" _Have you heard from your sister lately?_ " There it is, the inevitable downward spiral of Katherine. For a skinny, little midget of a woman she sure does occupy a lot of space in a lot of lives, which is exactly how she wants it. Heaven forbid anyone just get a few Katherine-free moments in their day.

"I got a really sweetly-worded subpoena from her lawyer, I mean fiancée, last week if that's what you mean?" I answer sarcastically. _Stay angry, Elena, it's the only way you're not going to get your heart broken_ , I remind myself. _Stay angry_. It's become my mantra as of late.

" _I know it seems hard now sweetie, but it'll blow over. She still loves you and you're still sisters. She's still trying to find her way out of her big sister's shadow, it's natural. And we all know Katherine has always had a penchant for drama._ "

"Yeah," I scoff and feel instantly bad for it. As sucky as it is for me, it's got to be ten times harder my parents because they're stuck in the middle. They can't pick a side and the opportunity for mediation is long passed. Yeah, we need a change of subject. "I saw Jeremy's article in National Geographic!"

" _Your poor mother. We picked up a copy at the grocery store and when she read the part about the risks of diving the cenotes she nearly had a heart attack._ " Jeremy is an adventure writer/photographer for National Geographic. He always shares the details of all of his assignments with me long before he ever gets his passport stamped. I've known about his insane Mexican cenote-diving, BASE-jumping, bug-eating adventure for the last two months and it's been a bitch keeping it from my mom. I knew she would freak out, but Jeremy lives for this kind of stuff.

"I knew she would. Anyways, I should get going to bed. Mom got me paranoid with all her dinosaur flu talk."

" _She's been threatening me with herbal supplements all month, damn Jonah and his big mouth._ "

"She just worries about you, Daddy, and everyone else."

" _She sure does, her heart is as big as the day I married her._ " My parents are still sickening in love with each other, even after thirty-five years of marriage. Growing up I always thought it was gross but now they're my standard of relationships, which probably explains why I'm still single. But that's just as well, if I can't have the fairy tale, I don't want the made-for-TV spin off. I want _real_. And I realize that means waiting, maybe forever, but I'm ok with that.

"And you're still just as sappy."

" _Don't be so smug, someday it'll happen to you and you can bet your butt I'll be the first in line to call you 'sappy.'_ " Wishful thinking, Dad, but thanks for the vote of confidence.

"Sure thing. Happy birthday again, Daddy."

" _Sleep tight, don't let the_ Cimex lectularius _bite._ "*

When I hang up the overwhelming silence of my flat begins to close in on me. As quickly as I can I flip on the TV. I didn't even care what's on, I just need something to fill all this empty space. Force of habit drives my fingers to punch in the second number of my speed dial. When Caroline doesn't answer all that's left is the third and final number. I've been seeing him a few times a week for years now— he always answers, he always comes, and he always leaves me satisfied.

" _The usual?_ " Ben, the cute delivery guy from Black Thai Affair, warbles playfully from the other end of the call. He doesn't even bother with a formal greeting anymore. He recognizes my number on caller ID. I can hear a smile in his voice and it instantly makes me look forward to the forty-one seconds of flirting I'll get when he brings my dinner. He's handsome in the high-school-quarterback kind of way and has a great smile. Plus, talking to him makes me feel like less of a shut in and I'm a generous tipper: our relationship is mutually beneficial.

"The usual," I confirm with a quick goodbye before settling back on the couch to wait for the familiar Styrofoam box of pad see ew to arrive, with one side order of white rice, and one Thai iced tea.

Just one, like always.

 ***** ** _Cimex lectularius_** **: bedbug**

 **Thanks for reading! How about some reviews here? xo**


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: It's a two chapter night again! If you're fresh off of reading about Damon's promise to Elena go back a chapter 'cos you're missing chapter 4!**

I barely have time to find something good to watch when three short knocks rap on my front door. Ben is in fine form tonight, that's probably the speediest delivery I've ever gotten. Luckily I don't make it completely to the door before realizing that my skirt is still in a wrinkly heap on the floor and I am in my unmentionables.

"Just a sec!" I call out and jog to my bedroom to grab my comfiest pair of yoga pants and hoodie and pull them on hastily. I shook my hair out and rolled my shoulders before swinging the door open for my forty-one seconds of flirting with the best deliveryman in Manhattan. I'll open the door with a smile, he'll ask me how my night is, I'll say it's better now, he'll chuckle and say he's glad he could be of service and hand me my food, I'll giggle appropriately and hand him a twenty, he'll say "until next time" then it's a wink, giggle, shared "goodnight," and checking out him out as he walks away. I can always count on Ben.

Except, it's not Ben waiting on the other side of my door.

"You forgot this," Damon croons huskily, leaning against my door jamb with a thick manila envelope in his hands. I instantly recognize my chicken scratch on the front, it's the notes from my call with _Harper's Bazaar_ today. I must have forgotten them when my bag exploded in the lobby today. I blush furiously, wait… how the hell does Damon know where I live? "Caroline told me where you live."

Oh, that's how. Depending on how the next thirty seconds go I'll either hug her or hang her tomorrow; sharing my coffee preference was strike one and this might as well count as strike two _and_ three. Between Care and Rebekah it's amazing they haven't assembled a dowry for me yet. Unless they have…

"Thanks," I peep awkwardly. Sure, I feel a little vulnerable here in skintight workout clothes and messy hair, but there's something else entirely that's making me uncomfortable. I daresay that I may be feeling just an obnoxious itch of attraction to Damon; the fact that he came all the way to my flat to bring my an envelope could maybe possibly mean he's feeling it too, a little bit potentially? When I reach out to the take the envelope from his outstretched hand our fingers brush and if I hadn't been staring at my trembling hand I probably would have seen him take a step closer and pull me into his muscled chest. Before I knew what was happening his lips are on mine and… wow.

I'm not ashamed to admit that it's been a while since I've been kissed properly, but that has nothing to do with why I'm melting into the polished cherry floorboards under my bare feet. The moment his soft, full lips meet mine my skeleton vaporizes into a pleasantly warm, inebriating haze and it's all I can do to trust his strong arms with what little of my weight isn't floating away on cloud nine. He's insistent and dominant but he's the definition of gentle and sweet when his tongue traces the seam of my lips. I can feel myself becoming wild with greed and desire but he's the first to make a move and he pushes me a few more steps inside my flat and slams the front door shut with the hand that isn't tangled in my hair.

He's kissing the hell out of me and my mind is reminding my buzzing body to relax and enjoy it. My hands have a different idea though and they creep up Damon's arms slowly and purposefully. I can feel the muscles and cords of his arms flexing and pulling underneath the rich wool-blend of his suit jacket. The allure of his crew-honed physique is making me a little fuzzy and I dig my fingers into him slightly to anchor myself. He must take my exploration as an implicit permission to get grabby because his wide palms smooth up my sides in synchrony with each other until his thumbs brush ever so lightly against the swell of my breasts. On the one hand his touch feels incredible, but on the other the skin that he isn't touching is itching and burning with jealousy and anticipation and I want his hands everywhere all at once.

I feel my back collide with something that I can only imagine is the door and in one fluid motion Damon lifts me up and guides my legs around his waist. The sharp seam of his leather belt catches the soft skin of my thigh through my flimsy pants in a little bite and it does nothing to rein this rodeo in. When I hiss softly through my teeth he grinds his growing hardness against me in a way that is so deliciously wanton and reckless that I can't swallow back the whimper that escapes from my throat. I have to tighten my arms around his shoulders before I'm washed away and I don't know if I didn't realize or just didn't appreciate how broad and solid they are. He smells like minty sandalwood and pine with a touch of spice and a note of aged leather and I'm starting to believe that it's possible to get a contact high from cologne.

My head suddenly becomes too heavy and falls back against the door, leaving my neck exposed, which doesn't elude Damon's attention. His lips break away from mine to trace down my jaw to explore more and more skin and then he finds it: the sensitive spot halfway between my ear and the curve of my shoulder. My high school boyfriend found it when we were making out under the bleachers in tenth grade and ever since then it's been like a magic button for getting me hot. Of course, Damon is considerably more skilled than my high school boyfriend and he alternates between sharp nips and soothing caresses that are driving my last vestiges of control straight out the door that I am currently pinned against. He draws a hot, sinful path from my shoulder to my ear with his tongue, finishing his short journey with a playful nibble to the shell of my ear. That does it.

The haze in my head clears and I'm a live wire of want and need and must have and right freaking now. The air gliding over my skin crackles with intensity and I become acutely aware of every nerve ending in my body. Every nerve ending that is currently begging to get some attention from Damon, they ache without his touch.

It's quite possible that he's ruining me right now.

I finally convince my hands to detach themselves from Damon's thick, soft hair in favor of exploring the muscled expanse of his chest and I'm rewarded with another burning kiss that engulfs all of my senses. I've never kissed anyone who kisses like Damon before, he's heedlessly confident and utterly absorbing. I could see myself getting irrevocably hooked on these kinds of kisses. He grabs my hand in his own and anchors us over his heart. It's so tender that I forget to breathe for a moment and I can feel his heart flutter when I sigh against his lips.

In my own turn of brazenness I venture my free hand to the fly of his pants and I'm rewarded with a sexy growl that I wouldn't mind hearing more often. He releases my other hand and braces himself against the wall behind me and tightens his grip on my bottom. I am somehow able to steady my fingers enough to grab the pull of his zipper and yank it down. It's hard to tell who is shaking more as my hand slides between the pleats of his charcoal grey slacks, but I think he is when my hand finally—

 _Knock, knock, kn-knock!_

I sit up so quickly that I nearly fall off of the sofa. My camisole is stuck to my sweaty back and I'm breathing far harder than I should be for having just woken up from a nap. My heart is still racing so purposefully that I can hear it in my ears. I touch my lips with my fingers and they still tingle from the imaginary assault of Damon's kisses. The trails he blazed on my skin still burn and ache for more. I look frantically around my flat to find that I am still alone. What the hell was that?

 _Knock, knock, kn-knock!_

Oh Ben, my poor hapless Ben, I kind of hate you right now. I have no idea where that dream was headed but I think I would have liked to stay and find out. Who am I kidding? I know exactly where that was headed! I know exactly where it was headed and I approve whole-heartedly. It's been a while and if I have to settle for dream sex with my hot, annoying jerk of a co-worker then so be it. As long as no one else (ie: Caroline) ever finds out about it, it's totally fine, right?

I do feel a little bad about stomping my way over to the door like a bratty teenager who just got my driving privileges pulled. I whip open the front door with a little more force than I intended to find boring, reliable Ben with that pathetic dinner for one perched on his hand.

"Hey Elena," he smiles sweetly. "How is your night going?"

"Just peachy, Ben," I said sarcastically, and yes I know, I might throw the cosmos out of tilt by not following the aforementioned laws of take-away delivery flirting but I'm frustrated and angry and uncomfortably warm.

"Long day, huh?" Ben attempts with another boyish smile.

"If only that were all," I sighed and smiled, it's not fair to take it out on him. He just wants his tip and to be on his way. "Luckily I have you to rescue me."

"Anytime, Elena, you know my number," he says with the customary wink and then it's the twenty-exchange, flirty giggle, goodnights, and I'm out.

I go through the motions of pulling out one of the hand-made ceramic plates I found at a craft fair last spring and a glass tumbler. I've found that if I move my dinner from the take-away container to real dishes it almost seems like a home-cooked meal, and it's less sad than curling up on the couch with a plastic fork and chowing down from a styrofoam box.

 _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ is showing on TMC, this used to be one of the movies Katherine and I would always watch when our parents were away. We'd stay up late and sprawl out in the living room in our pajamas with ice cream and sparkling apple cider, Katherine would ask me a million questions about boys and what high school was like and I'd do my best to answer honestly. There's a six-year age difference between us, but (until recently) Katherine always seemed older than her age and we got on more like best friends than sisters.

She was only twelve when I moved away to chase my dreams but we still talked every day. With the magic of texting and Skype it never felt like we were that far away from each other. She texted me pictures of her hilariously calamitous prom date with Mason Lockwood in real time and I FaceTimed my first runway show with her. The day she called me to say she had gotten into the New York School of Design I was beyond elated. I emptied out my home office that night so she'd have a place to stay and spent the summer turning my Spartan flat into a home fit to share with my baby sister. On her first night in New York Caroline and I took her shopping on Fifth Avenue for a city-appropriate wardrobe and finished the night with dinner at Morton's Steakhouse. Sure it was kind of cheesy and we spent most of the day hitting up stereotypical tourist hangouts, but it was one of the best days of my life.

Then there was the worst: the day Katherine stormed into my office telling me that she was quitting _Chateau Verveine_ and taking a high-level position at our competitor, _All Starr_. My heart broke. It wasn't just that she was quitting, but she was quitting angrily. She said she hated working in my shadow, hated the looks she got from her co-workers, and the one that really slayed me, that she hated being "Elena Gilbert's kid sister." As if that wasn't enough, Katherine _Pierce's_ new personal assistant from _All Starr_ served us with the lawsuit twenty-seven days later. When Caroline read the letter she thought it was a joke and texted Katherine to let her know "haha, you got us," but she just got a text back saying that she wasn't supposed to communicate with either of us personally and that all inquiries should go through her attorney, formidable business law shark, Elijah Smith. Inquiries! My little sister, the one who asked me how to kiss a boy and when she should start wearing lipstick, wouldn't even take my "inquiries" anymore.

I never remember being hurt as badly or as deeply as Katherine hurt me with that letter. We haven't spoken face-to-face since that day in my office. Everyday I wish I would have done something to stop her, anything to slow her furious retreat. Had I known that could have been the last time I'd see her I would have tried harder. In the moment I was so shocked I couldn't move. I don't remember the details, maybe it's my mind protecting my heart, but I remember Caroline coming in to see what the commotion was about and I remember crying… a lot. Of course, I remember the wicked hang over that I suffered from the next day and more crying. Worst of all, I remember the look on Katherine's face— hatred. My sister hated me and I had (still have) no idea what I'd done to deserve it.

Katherine was completely moved out of my apartment by the time I got home that day, she'd even taken her heart-shaped ice cube trays out of the freezer. I looked around at the home I'd tried to make for her, for us, to share and I hated it. I hated the plush, warm sofa and the soft blue recliners. I hated the toasted khaki color of the walls and the fluffy maroon rugs that covered the cold wood floor. I booked a trip to Quintana Roo and left my keys with the best interior designer in the city. I couldn't come back to that cloyingly "homey" apartment. I needed a major change of scenery. Joelle and her team stripped the rugs off the floor and stripped the varnish off the floor, the walls shed their warm hue, and the overstuffed couch disappeared. I came back five days later to crisp white walls, ebony-stained floors, and a beautiful mid-century living room set with angles as sharp as my hurt. The pictures of Katherine, Caroline and I were replaced with frameless abstract pieces and the stack of scrapbooks on the coffee table had vacated in favor of a glass vase full of clear marbles and calla lilies. _This_ was much more _me_ , the newly un-sistered me.

The only evidence that Katherine ever lived here is a chip in the bottom right door of the linen cabinet at the end of the hall. She and Caroline were playing some ridiculous home bowling game one night and Katherine had, apparently, not realized that sangria makes her stronger. She hurled the bowling ball down the hall and ricocheted one of the pins into the cabinet. We laughed for an obscenely long time at that. I can't bring myself to paint over it or patch it up but I can't really look at it either, I just stopped opening that door.

 _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ was nearly over and my dinner was stone cold by the time I ended my moping session. It's just as well, I suppose, I wasn't that hungry anyways. I'm about to call the night a complete bust and turn in early when my phone chimes with an incoming message.

 _Smarmy McJerkface: New lead on the case, let's meet in the AM. Does 8 work for you?_

I look around and see Jaws' big orange bubble eyes staring back at me. He's good people and I know he won't tell anyone so I allow myself to smile widely and giggle at Damon's late night text. Sure, it's about work _but_ I always start work at seven thirty. He knows that I'd be in the office at eight anyways, which means that he _wanted_ to text me, he was at home thinking about _me_ at midnight. I wonder what exactly he's thinking about me, I hope it's something good.

 _8 works just fine for me._

Nice and professional response.

 _Smarmy McJerkface: Great, see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams :-)_

Oh they most certainly will be. Sweet, indeed.

 **Fill that lonely comment box, friends! Reviews fuel updates ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**My dearest dears: TXKat, Damon'sBourbon1864, jairem, bellax0xchristina, Dhorcas, and DelenaDarling. I love you peeps, thanks for the encouraging words. This one is for you... xo**

"Oh my gosh, El!" Caroline screeches as she scrambles off of her desk and pushes Nic away from her to adjust her skirt and brush through her curls. It's not like I didn't know what they were doing, or what they're _always_ doing when they think no one else is in the office. In fact, Nic has even lost his customary bashful look and just smiles smugly from behind Care's desk. Like bunnies, these two! "You're early!"

"I have a meeting with the lawyer at eight," I smile and shake my head because despite her blush and faux-flustered reaction I can see that she's already eyeing her boyfriend again. Honestly, these two kind of make me sick… in the best kind of way, of course. They are so head-over-heels in love with each other. At first, I was a bit wary of Nic; dude just shows up out of nowhere and slams into the century's most serious relationship with my best friend in a matter of days. I thought they were moving way too fast, especially because she didn't really seem to know anything at all about him. Caroline tried her best to assuage my concerns and eventually I softened up a little towards him; once I did it was obvious that he was just as crazy for her as she was for him. And it's great, you know, Caroline has a heart of gold and she's the most loyal, hard-working, truly optimistic person I know. Girlfriend deserves her fairytale.

"I hope Damon isn't giving you too much trouble, 'Lena," Nic said sympathetically. Something tells me that, despite his highest accolades to Caroline, he knew that Damon and I wouldn't get off to the best start. Nic's lucky I like him.

"Rough beginning, but I think we may be on to a smoother second start," I nod matter-of-factly, and it's not like I'm lying, I am painting with pastels though. 'Rough' is an understatement, I really did/do hate Damon. I think he's too proud, too cocky, and too arrogant for his own good. I firmly believe that going through life as Adonis-reborn has exempted him from ever developing a charming personality.

"He has a gift for second starts," Nic agrees and tickles Caroline's side playfully, herding her towards the door. What I wouldn't give to know more about Nic's history with Damon seems juicy. "Come Love, let's go get coffee and leave 'Lena to prepare for her meeting. Have a fantastic day."

"You too. Now go, you guys are making me uncomfortable," I laugh and shoo them away so I can make my way to my office next door. Just before shutting the door Caroline stuck her head back in to make sure I was ok meeting with Damon by myself. I don't have quite enough time to interpret her mischievous wink when I said that I'd be fine because the door swings back open to reveal Damon; he's dressed to the nines and looking like he's ready to take over the world once again. Blue suit this time, bold choice but he's working it. He's working it _so good_. Not many people could pull off _that_ much of _that_ color but it makes his eyes look even more stupidly blue and I want to peel it off of him. With my teeth.

"Good morning, Elena Gilbert," he greets with an-almost-normal smile and I realize that I'm probably staring.

"Mr. Salvatore," I nod professionally even though in the back of my mind I'm thinking about a much more kinky situation using each other's last names.

"How was your evening?" he asks and I get the feeling that he really does want to know.

"I appreciate you coming in early. What did you find?" sure, it seems rude, but I so cannot go _there_ with Damon, especially not this morning. I spent the past twelve hours feeling like a sad, soggy pile of musty laundry and, yeah, flirting with Damon might make me feel better. Peeling off each other's clothes and going three rounds on my desk might make me feel better, too. But then what? I go back to hating him? Or worse, I pine for him? No thanks, I choose option D— none of the above. I hate that he looks almost disappointed that his attempt to spark a normal human conversation failed. In spite of myself, I feel incredibly guilty that he's momentarily crestfallen because of me. "My evening was acceptable, by the way, thank you for asking. Um, how was yours?"

"It was alright, I can think of something that would have made it better," he smirks and sends me what I can only guess he thinks is his 'panty-melting' gaze. It seems too stilted and forced to be genuine. His whole _thing_ just doesn't add up; at first glance he's just another pretty play boy but something about this whole persona just seems… _off_. Sometimes he seems uncomfortable in his own skin, like he doesn't really believe that he can back up the stupid, inappropriate things he says. Of course, I just may be making all of that up in an attempt to make him bearable.

"Well, we can't have it all," I shrug and steer the conversation back under my control. Men like him are used to getting what they want with a few bats of their eyes and I will _not_ cave to that. I'm Elena freaking Gilbert, I have home court advantage here, the ball is mine, the court is mine, the game is mine. No diversions. I will not be a crooning wisp of infatuation like Rebekah. "What did you find?"

"In short, nothing," he says cryptically and unbuttons his suit jacket before sitting down and crossing an ankle over his knee. Argyle socks. Total nerd chic, but I like it, it's old school and classy— which seems to be his signature style. I like Argyle, I instantly imagine a sheath dress with overlapping angles across the bodice in tone-on-tone embroidery that fades into wispy chevrons across the skirt. Where is my damn sketchbook?

"Nothing?" I ask, trying to hide my irritation. Despite his adorable socks I don't see how 'nothing' warranted a late night text to my personal phone. Unless… nah, I doubt there was anything behind it.

"Nothing," he repeats with a smirk.

"So why are you here?" I'm not a morning person, not by a long shot, and being subjected to a back-and-forth, guess-how-smart-I-am riddle hour with Damon first thing is not exactly scintillating. I try not to let my irritation be made too obvious because I pledged to myself to be nicer to him, but it's a really difficult right now.

"That's exactly why, I found nothing. Katherine and Elijah have dick to work with here," he explains with a smile and I get the sense that he is almost as relieved about this as I am. "This should be an open and closed case. I am advising you to attempt to settle outside of court."

"Settle with what?" I ask, because I'm genuinely curious. Settling out of court could be all that's left to salvage my personal relationship with Katherine and it will keep our family squabbles out of the press, which I am sure my parents will appreciate. Plus, it will teach that brat an important lesson about not always getting exactly what she wants exactly when and how she wants it.

"A counter-suit. We offer to take no further legal action if she drops her lawsuit." Just the tone in Damon's voice as he bit out the word 'counter suit' is intimidating. I can tell there's a little flame in his eyes just thinking about it and I wonder how much of a thrill he gets out of this. I'm definitely glad he's on our side because I would bet he's ruthless in the courtroom; when I was asking around about his reputation words like 'wolf,' 'bloodthirsty,' and 'cutthroat,' weren't uncommon. Just thinking about him all fired up and passionate in court makes me a little hot. He's a dominant personality and I'm sure he's not used to losing.

"And _when_ she doesn't settle?" Because, realistically, she _won't_ settle. Katherine doesn't settle, ever. She will do whatever it takes to get what she wants. The more I think about it, _not_ giving her what she wants is a little scary.

"We counter-sue for defamation of character, slander, and violation of her employment contract," Damon explains coolly. I get it, it's his job to deal with stuff like this and it's not like he's personally invested in this at all, but the thought of suing my baby sister for those scary things in a public court is not awesome. She already hates me enough to change her damn name, I can't imagine something like that would make any strides to improve our relationship.

"Wow. Can I… can I just think about it for a bit?" I manage to bite out, even though I can hear my heart pounding in my ears and I'm getting a little woozy. This is starting to get really serious, really fast.

"Of course, but I would advise moving soon on it."

"Sure, yeah."

"Look, I know this is hard for you, Katherine being your sister and all, but I'm on _your_ side, here. If you decide not to go forward I'll do everything I can to keep this out of court but if it does go to court you'll have to counter-sue to protect yourself and your assets."

"If she lost the counter suit what would happen to her?"

"Honestly?" he asked and I nod. If I'm going to even think about going through with this I need to know _everything_. "Well, she'll lose her job, her reputation, and her credibility. She'll be lucky if she ends up designing rhinestone patterns for the ass of sweatpants at WalMart in the end, but Elena…" he says with naked honesty and when I meet his eyes I'm enveloped in a weird safety blanket that tells me I can trust him. "You'll be fine. Caroline will be fine. Your company and everything that you've worked your ass of to build, all of this, it will be fine."

There it is again: business or blood. Honestly, the direction I lean on that question is dependent on the day of the week. My little trip down memory lane last night and my conversation with my parents has me feeling a little nostalgic and I'm tipping more towards the family side of the equation. I'm about to ask for more time to think about it, but then I see the picture someone took of Caroline and I at our first runway show. We're all smiles, with our arms around each others' shoulders and designer credentials secured on lanyards around our necks. We hadn't slept for what felt like weeks while getting ready for that show. The group we call "The Old Guard" is on either side of us: April, Dana, Aaron, and Kiki. We found them when we first got started out of our apartment in Queens. They were just like us: kids from nowhere important with no connections and no way to make fancy friends. We brought them on with the promise that we would do our best to make _Chateau Verveine_ a brand they could be proud of being associated with. They each gave a million per cent right off the bat and they're all still with us today.

 _Chateau Verveine_ isn't just a company. It's the dream I created with my best friend. It's the opportunity we can give young designers who want to break into this field where nepotism, networking, and money are sometimes more important than raw talent and passion. It's our sixty-something employees who show up early and stay late and give us their weekends to get a show ready. It's the people who believed in us when we were ready to pack up and move back home. It's crazy initiatives like pledging to ban toxic dyes from our fabrics and give back to causes that we believe in. It's more than a company. It's a family, too.

We may not be blood, but _this_ family has been a strong shoulder to cry on and a soft place to fall for several years. They're here and they're real and they've done nothing but love me back despite all of the bumps we've hit along the way. _This_ is the family I'm going to fight for.

"Offer the settlement," I say firmly and look away from the picture to see Damon looking rather pleased with my decision. He's going to be unstoppable.

"I'll go call Elijah now," he grins and slinks away like he's on the hunt.

As soon as I know he's gone and the handle on my office door latches I collapse against my chair and let the cool rough grain of the leather ground me for a moment. I feel like I just declared war on Katherine and, in a way, I guess I have. I justify it by blaming her: she's left me with no choice other than this. I blow out a long breath and my eyes fall to my stupid leather bag. My sketchpad is sticking out of the top and I jump up to swipe it out.

I open to a blank page and pluck some watercolor pens out of my desk. The bristles dance across the paper and a beautiful dress begins to materialize in their wake. It's just a shade or two darker than an autumn sky with a crisp origami neckline. I imagine it crafted out of raw silk, the softness and elegance of the fabric contrasting with the intentionally-severe angles of the folds. The bodice fades into a full, soft skirt that hits a few inches above the knee. It's a fun contradiction and I love it. I'd probably pair it with a thick, black enamel necklace and patent peep-toe stilettos.

"How'd it go?" Caroline asks, I didn't even hear her waltz into my office. She slides a coffee across my desk and kicks off her heels before plopping into the chair across from me.

"Alright, I guess," I mutter and let the bite of the Cafe Verona hug my tastebuds. "He's going to offer a settlement."

"Why should _we_ settle? _We_ haven't done anything wrong!?" Caroline screeches and sits upright.

"Not us, an offer for Katherine to settle with us out of court."

"Yeah right, like _that_ will ever happen. Damon obviously doesn't know Katherine."

"He's got a lot to hold over her."

"Good, back-stabbing gorgon bitch," Caroline mumbles and takes a long drink. I try not to react to her comment, but I obviously fail because her expression immediately softens. "Sorry El, I just mean that this whole thing is such a ridiculous mess."

"I know," I smile reassuringly. I know that Caroline would never intentionally say anything to hurt my feelings. Katherine was like a sister to her, too, and she was hurt by the suit almost as much as I was. I know she's doing the same thing I am: _staying angry_. Caroline is better at angry than I am. She's better at dualities and protecting herself. She never second-guesses herself and she _knows_ that we have earned the benefit of being treated better. I, on the other hand, still believe that I did something to deserve this mess.

"On the bright side," she winks and swipes my sketchpad from my desk. "Holy crab grass and rolled oats, Elena Lee Gilbert! _This_ is gorgeous!"

"Thanks," I blush more furiously than I did under the scrutiny of Damon's gaze. A compliment from Caroline means a lot to me on many levels. She's my best friend, of course, but she's also a formidable and insanely-talented designer in her own right. I'd probably never admit it to her, but I truly believe that she is _the_ best in the game. She's our generation's Donatella. I respect the hell out of her as a colleague and wish I had her chops. When she gets enthusiastic about my designs it's one of the rare times that I actually feel like an artist and not a giant imposter.

"Ok," she jumps up and begins pacing. She has her eyes closed and is waving her hands around like a woman possessed. This is her process, I don't know how she doesn't trip and smash her face, but I don't question it. _This_ is how the magic happens. "I'm seeing this with our autumn line. Saturated primaries are going to be a big palate for fall, I _feel_ it. We could have this bodice and we could tweak the skirt a bit and make it all sex. Do it in green with a sheath silhouette? Nina can totally pull off the blue for Milan and we can put Candice in the green. Let's contrast it with fine, delicate jewelry, small silver hoops like those ones we saw at Tiffany's and silver infinity pendants. Then we can incorporate 'infinity' into the marketing campaign, something like 'Infinitely you.' For the photo spreads we go full wilderness, we can drive up to Maine and shoot at Bar Harbor or should we do snow? I think fall colors would enhance the vibrancy but the palate will stand out against a white backdrop more. What do you think?"

"You kind of lost me at 'autumn line,' to be honest, Care."

"California! These colors will be delicious against the desert," she continues, completely ignoring me. I know better than to derail the _Caroline Express_. This is how she works: she messes around with Nic in the office for three and a half weeks a month and then works for seventy-two hours straight and our company's foreseeable future is all planned out. There are worse partners to have.

"You really think it could anchor a whole line?"

"Girl, yeah! Crisp lines, bold colors, rich fabrics. I think it will offset the ethereal vibe we're going for with the summer line. It'll show that we do sweet _and_ sexy and that _Chateau_ is more than a one-trick-pony."

"It means a lot to me that you think so."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep for the next three weeks. I guess I should be kind of mad at you about that. Screw it, I'm too excited to be mad!" she laughs and collapses into the chair again. I'm looking at my drawing but I can feel her prying gaze on me. "So… where did the inspiration come from?"

"Oh," I say and shake me head. I can't admit it to her. She'd tease me until I die. "I don't know, just thought of it I guess."

"So nothing at all to do with a blue-eyed stray who has been hanging around the office. That 'rough start' that smoothed out?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Whatever, if wanting to get Damon between your legs has got you sketching again then I'm all for it. Take him to bed, sister! We have a line to design!"

In spite of myself I sit there and grin like an idiot and I hear Caroline barking orders to our employees on the other side of my office wall: "get the Blahnik catalogue, we need shoes!" "I need a color wheel, people! Stat!" "Someone find out where we are with that silkworm virus! Is India exporting raw fabric yet?"

I love that woman.

 **Sooo... whatcha think? PS: did you know that there is a 'stat page' on here where you can see where in the world people are reading from? And, friends, we've got a crazy international group here! Ya'll are reading from all over the world, it's amazing :) Comment where you're from and what you think, I'd love to hear from more of you!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you for the reviews, they're love! Happy reading :)**

For the rest of the day I wrestle back and forth with my decision to play hard ball with Katherine. Well, more like my decision to have Damon play hardball with Elijah because let's face it: I'm never going to see my little sister again after this. If that were to happen, I might need a hefty security detail of highly skilled ninjas and a Kevlar unitard to stop Katherine from jumping me and ripping my throat out Dothraki-style.

I debate about whether to call my parents and let them know. On the one hand, I'm sure they'd be thrilled to hear that there's a possibility that their daughters will get out of a lengthy court battle. On the other hand, I'd have to be honest with what we're holding over Katherine's head and I'm sure they'd have a thing or two to say about what is, fundamentally, professional blackmail. I finally decide against letting them know about the most recent developments until I know where it's going. Besides, it's Wednesday and Mom has a quilting club meeting and Dad always mows the lawn while she's out.

Caroline has no qualms about it. She doesn't think we can afford to spread ourselves between Fashion Week and court right now, and she's probably right. She did however strongly voice her support for doing whatever needed to be done, even if that leaves Katherine penniless and disgraced. Like I said, Caroline has a heart of gold and we call her Care Bear for a reason but she is not a woman to be double-crossed. Her ability to hold a grudge is unrivaled and, honestly, a little disconcerting. She stills "accidentally spills" a smoothie on Vickie Donovan's car every time we go back to Mystic Falls because Vickie said her standing back tucks sucked in ninth grade. I don't even want to know the fate that lies in Katherine's future should she ever encounter Scare Bear again.

I've had a pounding headache all day from grinding my teeth, a charming habit I developed in high school. Damon must have known that the whole ordeal was bothering me and he was nice enough to stop by mid-day and ask me to join him for lunch. I said no. What? I did. I said no but he insisted. And by insisted, I mean that he really _insisted_ , to the point of nearly wheeling me to elevator in my chair. Those baby blues of his are so stupidly mesmerizing I found myself agreeing without even meaning to. He probably could have sold me a star chart and a timeshare in Baghdad, but let's not get into that. Besides, a girl's got to eat, right?

Normally I'm a salad bar kind of girl, but not because I like it. I actually hate that gluten-free, low-fat, zero-carb crap but the type of people I find myself lunching with on most occasions are all for it, ergo, I eat it a lot. It bores me to death and I've considered a hunger strike until the fashion industry acknowledges burgers and potato chips as standard fare. Personally, I prefer a juicy cheeseburger- heavy on the cheese, heavy on the burger, heavy on the mayo, heaviest on the mustard. Round it out with a basket of seasoned fries from the Mystic Grill and a bottomless Coke and voila: clam happy Elena. I can usually talk Caroline into indulging once a month or so but I typically find myself smuggling it into my office and enjoying it alone. It's the ultimate comfort food and almost as good as a glass of red wine for an attitude adjustment.

So when Damon said 'choose the place,' I knew _exactly_ what I wanted— Bravo's on 14th Avenue. It's kind of a trek from the office, but it is _so_ worth it. Besides, the walk gave me a few minutes of fresh air to think about everything. And, if you're interested, Damon was actually a gentleman. He patiently listened to me ramble about the pros and cons of the countersuit and even held the restaurant door open for me. Shocking, I know; shocking and sexy. Sure, I am a post fem-lib career woman but it's nice to have a door held and a chair pulled out once in a while. It just makes you feel special and appreciated. Too many of the guys I have dated have misappropriated the gender equality agenda as an excuse to forget about those small thoughtful things.

We found a nice quiet booth near the window and sat down. Damon's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when I asked the waitress for a chocolate malt, double bacon bleu burger with extra bleu, and an order of cheese fries. Not that I really had to "order" it, it's my usual and I know the waitress recognized me. She probably thought Damon was yet another poorly executed date, who would go running for the hills before the check came. He recovered quickly, gave the waitress a winning smile and ordered the same thing but with extra pickles (eww). Good man.

We discussed the possible outcomes of the case over lunch and he was pretty thorough. He had already created contingency plans for anything that might come up. I'll admit, I am really impressed with his attention to detail and his strategy, but just thinking about how ugly this whole thing could go was threatening to put me off of my delicious lunch. Damon changed the subject swiftly and we rounded out our lunch with a heated debate about the merits of ice cream versus frozen yoghurt.

I am _loathe_ to admit this, but between you and me: I like lunchtime Damon. Like, I actually _like_ him. He laughs a lot when he's not at work and I like that. His laugh is that contagious kind that makes you laugh just because it's so joyful and honest, I like that, too. I haven't met very many people like him since I came to New York. He's pretty perceptive, which I'm sure comes with the attorney turf. He's… _fun_.

I had a good time.

Yeah, I said it. I had a voluntary lunch with Damon Salvatore and I enjoyed it. Big deal.

Ok, actually, it is kind of a big deal. Sure, he's smarmy and crude and sometimes (read: _most_ of the time) he's on my last nerve around the office, but he's actually rather pleasant company when he's not vying for the planetary champion of any of the above. Maybe it's some weird macho male alpha deal because as soon as the elevator hits the first floor he's a completely different person. He's witty and irreverent and funny as hell, no matter how inappropriate his sense of humor is. He's passionate about a lot of things, which I can't help but find tremendously sexy. I can tell by the way he talks that he's close to his family and he mentioned having a younger brother. Part of me feels like that must be why he's so empathetic about KatherineGate. He didn't really mention much about his personal life though and I'm not completely sure _why_ I want to know about his personal life, but I do.

All-in-all I wouldn't mind getting to know out-of-office Damon better. It's been a long time since anyone has made me feel like that, honestly. I'm usually too tired or too busy to notice people, to really _notice_ them and it's something I feel pretty badly about. The last time I went on a date, courtesy of Caroline of course, I just thought about my to-do list for the entire dinner. When Mr. Date got up to get us another round of drinks I snuck a peek at my Blackberry and answered no less than seven e-mails. The most pathetic part was, I was more elated about my efficiency in getting that much done in the time it took Mr. Date to walk to the bar and back than I was about any other aspect of the evening. I don't want to get too crazy just yet, but I feel like Damon and I may have a weird connection starting to weave around and it feels good. It feels good to finally connect with another human being besides Caroline.

After lunch Damon had a meeting with our press department and I didn't see him much for the rest of the day, save for the few times he walked past my office window and winked at me. Those little smiles and winks had me giggling like a schoolgirl and it was rather unfortunate that Caroline was lying on my office couch one of the times he did it.

"What are you giggling about?" she says and propped herself up on her elbows to look at me like I was a crazy person.

"What? Nothing! YouTube! Kittens and paper airplanes, it's a video about things and whatever… I thought you were asleep," I stutter and shift some papers around on my desk. I love this woman, but it would be bad if she found out about my blossoming crush on Damon. And by _bad_ I mean that she'll immediately start arranging the marriage.

"BS, I was just talking about _Orange is the New Black_ and Damon walked by and you started— OH MY GOD! You're giggling about _Damon_!" she squeals and leaps up from the couch, materializing right in front of me in an instant. _Damnit._ " _What_ is going on between you two? Have you gone on a date yet? Oh! Is he coming to the show? You have to invite him, him and Nic could be our groupies! Are you—"

"Care!" I have to raise my voice to talk over her excited chatter. Damon wouldn't even want to come to our show, right? I mean, it's not really his thing. But he might want to, if I asked. "There's nothing going on between us."

"Sure there isn't. You're blushing."

"I am _not_ blushing, I'm a grown woman, Forbes."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Ok, ok, you aren't blushing. Except for the parts of your face that are. And that's the whole part." I hate it when she's right.

"Anyways, _Orange is the New Black_ that's the uh… the Netflix one, right? Women in prison or something?" I ask, trying ever-so-desperately to change the subject.

"Oh no! No, no, no, no, no. You do not get to change the subject on me Elena Gilbert. You _like_ him."

"I like what he's attempting to do for _our_ company. That's all."

"No, I mean you like _him_. I knew it! I knew the minute he walked in here that you'd have a thing for him. You always go for the stuck-up jerky ones, no offense."

"Fine! _Sometimes_ , very rarely sometimes, he's not _entirely_ repulsive."

"Is he good in bed?"

"Caroline! I have _not_ slept with him!"

"But you want to."

"I am not even going to dignify that with an answer."

"It wasn't a question," she shoots me a smirk that would give Damon a run for his money. "It wouldn't kill you, you know. I'm sure he'd be down to get down, and it might even help you release some of that tension you've been carrying around for weeks. It's been what… like six months? That Hilfiger model in Milan, right? Orgasms are good for inspiration, that's a fact."

"Varvatos, Paris, and I'm not going to _sleep_ with Damon. We're colleagues, Care, and we really need him to come through for us." I do my best to seem superior and like I haven't thought about it a million times already. Caroline is right though, sleeping with him isn't the _worst_ idea in the world. I have been really stressed out and the yoga just isn't cutting it anymore in terms of release. I mean, I came up with a great design after a _dream_ of getting to second base with him imagine what I could do with a real-life home run. He wouldn't even have to talk that much, which would definitely be a plus.

"Ok, you're right… I guess. It's something to think about," Caroline holds up her hands in surrender and backs towards the door. "Something to think _long_ and _hard_ and _hotly_ about."

I throw an empty coffee cup at her but she ducks out of the door just in time and I can hear her laughing as she makes her way into her own office right next door. She knocks on the wall and chirps "missed me" before she goes silent and gets back to what I assume is either work or sexting Nic.

Caroline is right. It's not like I haven't had flings before and they were nice distractions from work. Just because I'm waiting for my fairytale doesn't mean I can't entertain myself in the meantime. Damon is here and, to my knowledge, available. He doesn't wear a ring and he's not exactly prancing around the office singing the praises of a long-term committed relationship. He flirts with everything with a pulse and two X chromosomes so I can't imagine it'd be a tough proposition to pose to him. The fact that he is drop dead gorgeous isn't a small plus in this whole scenario either. I've caught myself staring at him more than a few times at work and when he threw his head back and laughed at one of my stupid jokes during lunch I was totally smitten with the way his eyes lit up. He's an intractable rake and I certainly couldn't see anything lasting beyond a few nights and maybe a hot weekend getaway, which is fine with me. Let's face it: I want him _bad_.

Before I realize it, it's six thirty, and it looks like it's going to be take-away from Ben again tonight. I'm just packing up my things for the day when Damon knocks on my doorjamb with an armful of legal pads and file folders.

"Hey Elena, I got some files from _All Starr_ that you might be… oh sorry," he stops himself. His jacket and tie are gone and he has those damn shirt sleeves rolled up again. I think I can see a little bit of a tattoo peaking out from his shirt sleeves, which does absolutely _zilch_ to slake my lust. Now I just really want to know what it is. "I didn't realize you were headed out."

"It's fine, what's up?" I shrug nonchalantly and fight the urge to fan myself, the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. Will someone in the entire universe just have a little mercy on me?

"I can fill you in on the walk out, just let me grab my bag," he smiles charmingly. His genuine smiles are freaking delightful and a welcome reprieve from his smirky lop-sided grin. I bet he would come off as a lot less jerky if he flashed those pearly whites more often. His whole face lights up when he smiles and he's just… gorgeous.

Screw it. Decision made. I'm doing it. I'll invite him over for take-away tonight to "discuss business" and hope the night goes in my favor. If things get dicey I have no less than a full case of Petit Syrah at home that I can uncork. Everyone is flirtier with a belly full of vino and it's the good stuff, so he'll know I'm serious. We're both professional adults and I'm sure we can enjoy a few orgasms tonight and then tomorrow we can get back to work like nothing happened. And if it's really good, "nothing" can happen again next week.

I take advantage of the few moments that Damon is at his desk to fluff my hair up and swipe on a layer of peachy lip gloss. A little more kohl liner wouldn't kill me, but all in all I guess I'd take me to bed. I undo the top button on my blouse just for good measure; it's just enough to flash some décolletage but maintain the cleavage mystery for later. Nah, too desperate. Luckily I have just enough time to re-button it before he returns.

"Ready?" he asks with his messenger back slung across his chest. The strap makes his shirt cling to his body a little closer and I can't help but feel a little flush at the way it conforms to his washboard muscles. He's athletic but not bulky, he's fit in the way that's earned from running in the park and not lifting weights in front a mirror for hours each week. He's so real and it's comforting in my world of rampant superficiality.

"So ready," I smile lightly, even though he has no idea what I'm talking about.

The elevator ride is short and mostly filled with small talk about the building replacing the coffee stand in the lobby with a smoothie bar. It might be all in my head, but we're the only two people in the left and he stands right next to me so his shoulder is almost touching mine. When the lift dings at the ground level he holds his arm out to let me out first and my arm grazes past his chest, not unintentionally. Jeez, he's warm.

"You headed home?" he asks nonchalantly, and I can't help but hope that if I answer correctly he'll ask me out for a drink or, better yet, dinner.

"Yeah," I shrug noncommittally and prepare myself for the closer. I'm a successful, confident woman and I'm almost certain that I'm at least moderately attractive, I can totally do this. "Would you—"

"Daddy!" a tiny voice echoes through the lobby as little white sandals carry a blue tutu and Olaf the snowman t-shirt across the marble tiles. I look around to see just who is responsible for the little dark-haired cutie rocketing herself in my general direction and my jaw unfurls four stories when I look over to see Damon: knelt-down, arms open, scooping the little girl up.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

 **Remember, reviews are love! I love hearing what you think. xo**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry, friends! I hope this one works, thanks scarlett2112 for the heads up about the wonky text.**

"How is my Warrior Princess?" Damon asks, tossing the girl easily in the air while she giggles wildly. And _wow_ , if I thought Damon was handsome before… his snide, arrogant office persona has nothing on the obviously-smitten father kissing the most adorable little girl I'd ever seen on the cheek and snuggling her into a big hug. That dull ache in my belly? Yeah, that'd be my poor, sad, lonely ovaries wishing they were half responsible for a cute little kid like that.

"Look what Uncle Stefan gotted me!" the girl squeals, holding up a little stuffed penguin with a Central Park Zoo bowtie.

"What is that?" Damon asks as he fusses with a poofy blue bow barrette that's sliding out of the girl's unruly curls with one hand and holding her squirming body protectively against his chest with the other. Damnit, this couldn't be any sweeter. I hate him again.

"A pen-gin," she giggles and snuggles the plush bird under her chin. "The lady at the pen-gins' house said that daddy pen-gins keep the baby pen-gins warm in their eggs all winter even when it snows on them and the daddies are cold 'cause it's a thousand minus degrees. And all the daddies hug each other to stay warm until the babies come out of their eggs."

"It sounds like you learned a lot today, huh?" Damon smiles proudly, satisfied with the barrette's placement. He kisses the little girl on the cheek again. _Remember how much you hate him, Elena?_

"Yeah!" the girl cries and looks back to wave at a tall young man who is approaching us. "Me and Uncle Stefan got to see monkeys and hippos and a tiger and birds wif pink heads! Then me and Uncle Stefan feeded the camels. And there were two humps on his back!"

I turn around just in time to get a good look at this Uncle Stefan. Holy gods! Who are these Salvatores? Freaking paragons sent from Olympus for the rest of us to aspire to? He and Damon both have the same smile, but where Damon is cocky and arrogant Stefan is sweet and boyish. Stefan has sandy brown hair and warm emerald eyes, he's a little taller than Damon and not as lean. They both carry the same strong, aristocratic features in their faces but Stefan is definitely a little softer than his brother. He totally seems like the kind of guy who would come over to change the oil in your car and then make you dinner and cuddle for a movie. I bet Damon bullied him incessantly as kids. Caroline is going to lose her mind when she sees these two together.

"Two humps?!" Damon asks with an adorably shocked expression. Oh right, they were talking about camels or something. "I don't know Han, that seems pretty incredible."

"It's true, Daddy! Uncle Stefan taked a picture. Uncle Stefan show Daddy the picture you taked of the camels!"

"Alright, brother," Stefan smiles and scrolls through his phone before looking mischievously at the little girl in Damon's arms and winking at her. I feel weirdly like I'm intruding on this interaction. "Are you ready for the most incredible sight you've ever sighted?"

"I don't know, Stef. I'm not sure I'll believe it," Damon says suspiciously, playing along.

"I give you," Stefan says dramatically and flips his phone over the show Damon a picture of him holding the little girl in his arms while a camel looked over his shoulder, completely unamused. "A camel with two humps."

"Oh. My. Gosh. That camel really has _two_ humps!" Damon gasps for effect.

"I _told_ you, Daddy! Uncle Stefan picked me up so I could see over the fence and… and… and the camel was looking at me and his eyes were so big! He had pretty princess eyelashes and he used to live in the desert but now he lives here and wears a sweater in the winter. Sometimes a hat but he can't fit mittens on his feet because they're funny shaped. He keeps water in his humps," the little girl explains as she walks her penguin across Damon's shoulders. "Who's that?" she asks nonchalantly without even looking up at me.

"This is Elena, she and I work together. Elena this is my daughter, Hannah, and my brother, Stefan."

"Hi," Hannah mumbles and blushes before burying her face against Damon's neck. "She's really pretty, Daddy," she whispers just loud enough for me to hear and yeah, I feel a little smug about that. At least _someone_ noticed. Granted that someone looks to be about four years old but I'll take what I can get. Damon just chuckles and kisses her head.

"Hi Elena, nice to meet you. My deepest condolences for having to work with _this_ guy," Stefan says charmingly and shakes my hand. I smile and giggle slightly. _Hey!_ I'm allowed to giggle. No matter how dorky I probably seem right now.

"Nice to meet you, too, and thanks, I'm coping… barely."

Hannah is already drifting off to sleep with her arms around her dad's neck and her head on his shoulder. I really want to move his lapel out from under her chubby little cherub cheek because that is going to leave one uncomfortable imprint if she stays there but I stop myself. He's careful not to disturb her as he shifts his messenger around to his back and I feel strangely compelled to help take _something_ off of his hands. Whether it's the car keys he has looped around a finger or the coffee mug he's holding in the hand that's rubbing comforting circles on Hannah's back. He seems to have everything under control though so I don't even offer.

"Thanks for taking her today, Stef," Damon says quietly. "I owe you one."

"Anytime brother, you know I love getting my zoo on and it's creepy if I go alone."

"How'd she eat today?"

"Really good, actually, she was kind of fussy for breakfast but she ate her whole lunch without a fight, even her carrots. Mom made some banana nut mini-muffins and she was all over them. She made like ninety-seven batches of them, I dropped some off at your place this morning."

"Thanks. Man, I don't know how you do it," Damon shakes his head and he seems frustrated, which a weird expression on his face. I've seen a few shades of Damon and this is definitely a new one.

"It hardly seems fair, huh? I got the brains, the looks, _and_ the baby whispering gift."

"You're lucky there are little ears present."

"Sure thing," Stefan chuckles and rubs his hands together. "I've got to run, Lex has reservations at Keens at 8. Big promotion date."

"Gross," Damon grimaces theatrically and waves him off. "I don't even want to know, but have a good time."

"Always," Stefan grins boyishly, he's adorable. "Later man. Nice to meet you, Elena." I wave quietly, not wanting to say too much for fear of letting my silly flirtiness out. He has a girlfriend and Damon probably has some gorgeous wife at home. Double strike.

"Later Stef," Damon nods and Hannah stirs just enough to open her eyes and shake her penguin at her uncle.

"Bye bye, Uncle Stefan," she says sweetly and yawns. _Jeez_ , that's adorable.

"Bye princess, see you tomorrow." With one last friendly nod to his brother Stefan headed out leaving the lobby deserted except for us.

"I'm tired, Daddy," Hannah mumbles, reminding me that I couldn't just stand here and stare at them all night no matter how much I want to.

"Ok, Little One. Let's get you home," he chuckles affectionately and kisses her on the forehead before turning his attention back to me and shifting his messenger back around on his shoulder. He's that little "Are you ok to walk and talk?"

"Sure," I agree because I really don't want to leave right now. I want to bask in this little family's affection and love because it's exactly what I'm homesick for.

We don't really discuss anything on the walk to the underground parking garage since Hannah is sleeping but it's still nice. Somehow Damon is able to hit the unlock button for a sleek black Audi Q5. He excuses himself for a moment and buckles his daughter into the car seat in the back like a pro. He's so sweet that he tucks her penguin under her arm after she's secured.

"You have a little girl," I smile when after he closes the door and turns back towards me.

"You've heard me on the phone with her, Elena," he laughs and shakes his head. I think back to that day when he was perched on Rebekah's desk hypnotizing my naive assistant.

"I thought you were just being gross, I had no idea you were actually a dad. Your wife is ok with you working so late?"

"Wife?" Damon guffaws. "Don't be so narrow-minded, Elena. I'm not married, never have been."

"Oh, I just thought…"

"That since I have a daughter I must have the perfect little nuclear family at home? Sorry to dash your tragically-dated dreams, but it's just Hannah and me."

"I didn't mean anything by it." I'm actually relieved because if Damon was taken that would suck. And yes, I realize that's incredibly selfish of me and I'm not taking into account how hard it must to be a working single dad. And yes, I'm probably getting coal in my stocking for that.

"I know, you just want more information about my personal life. If you want sex, just ask for it." I almost choke on nothing because he's just trying to get a rise out of me, but he doesn't have any idea how close to the truth he really is.

"You're unbelievable," I roll my eyes without even meaning to.

"So I've been told," he smirks and he's probably absolutely correct.

"Right, so on that note, I'll see you tomorrow," I nod and suddenly feel really uncomfortable and all kinds of sleazy if I'm being honest. I was about to proposition Damon for a night of no-strings-attached sex when he's obviously got much more important things to spend the evening doing. He's probably going to go home and make some amazing wholesome dinner for his daughter, watch her like a hawk until she finishes her broccoli, and then read her a bedtime story before he tucks her in and I was going to completely cheapen him by trying to get him drunk and in my bed. I am the living worst. I wonder how long it will take me to wash this gross feeling off of my skin.

I turn quickly before he can see how uncomfortable I am because I know he would pick up on that but he stops me before I can get even three feet away.

"You're not walking home are you?" he asks like he already knows that answer.

"It's just a few blocks," I insist. "And I like walking."

"It's late and you're going to freeze your ass off. Get in, you're probably on our way anyways," Damon says an opens the front passenger door for me. He's got a point, it's really cold outside and when I said a "few" blocks it's actually more like thirteen blocks. I hesitate for a few moments too long because Damon just rolls his eyes and puts his hand at the small of my back to usher me into his car. Th imprint of his hand burns my skin, even through the layers of my wool pea coat and silk blouse. "Am I going to have to buckle you in too?"

"Thank you," is all I can think of to say and he just smiles and closes my door.

He slides into the driver's seat effortlessly and adjusts the rearview mirror to take one last look at his daughter before hitting the ignition button on the dash.

"She's crazy about the zoo, any zoo really. My parents want to take her to South Africa this spring. I think she's going to be a veterinarian," Damon says proudly and backs out of the parking spot. "Where to?"

"The San Remo," I say absent-mindedly and Damon just laughs and shakes his head. "What?"

"Nothing, just doesn't really seem to be your kind of place."

"It's clean and safe. I don't have to worry about a rapist hiding in my apartment when I get home late," I shrug. He's the first person to ever react that way. Usually people just look starstruck and kind of jealous when I tell them where I live. He didn't even ask the customary "have you ever met _insert celebrity neighbor's name_ before?" which I am silently grateful for. He's _really_ not like most of the other people I've met here.

"You live in this city, alone?" Damon asks and I recognize the tone: protective. I'm a little flattered by it and a little intrigued because I get the feeling that he's trying to map out more of my personal life. In the tension hanging in the air between us for a millisecond I get the feeling that he's hoping I'll say "yes."

"I have a orchid and a goldfish. _Had_ an orchid, I killed it. It's just me and Jaws now," I smile because it's better to play it off as a joke than let him know that I actually hate it. I don't want him to know that I hate how loud my door sounds when it closes me into my empty flat every night, or how I hate that I can hear myself think all night because there's no one else to fill the space next to me. I hate all of the extra space in my medicine cabinet and the vacant spot in my toothbrush cup. I hate that my flat has two assigned parking stalls but my little Honda has to live by herself. I hate that a fine layer of dust has settled on three of my four dining room chairs and that the plate on the bottom of the stack in the cabinet has never been used. I hate that I only need one blanket on the back of my couch instead of two or three. I get that this is New York and space comes at a premium but it just seems like there's so _much_ space in my life.

You know before, when I said I was happy?

I lied.

 **Reviews feed the muse :) xo**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for the feedback!**

It's 9:15 am and I'm _miserable_.

I didn't sleep well and I wasn't happy being awake when I should have been asleep.

I spent all night last night thinking about Damon. Obsessive? Sure. Creepy? Kind of. Pathetically depressing? _You bet_. After he dropped me off at my building he didn't drive away until I was safe in the lobby. I wondered what he and his daughter were doing; if Damon was reading her a bedtime story or if they were making dinner together. Maybe he was helping her with an art project or maybe they were watching a movie about penguins together. I stared at the ceiling replaying every interaction I had with Damon yesterday in my head over and over and over again. And every time my mind came back to him pushing me into his passenger seat and my chest ached with how right it felt.

I woke up around two in the morning to drown my sorrows in a carton of Cherry Garcia and whatever was on _E!_ but then I just ended up feeling more pathetic and alone. By the time proper morning rolled around I was utterly spent, completely frustrated, and on the verge of ridiculous tears; I couldn't even muster an ounce of enthusiasm to get ready for work. I pulled on a pair of wrinkly GAP slacks and a plain white blouse that is so boring I'm not even sure why I have it. A few rakes with a hairbrush and some ChapStick maxed out what little energy I had and even with that I was fifteen minutes late. I'm _never_ late.

"Elena, oh my gosh, I was about to send the NYPD out after you! Are you ok? What happened?" Caroline clucked and hovered around me before I was even completely out of the elevator. She gave me a hug and finally took a breath. "Was there a fire on the Metro tracks or something? I was so worried about you!"

"I'm fine, just a little _off_ today," I shrugged and explained lamely because that's really all I have to offer her right now. _I_ don't even know how I feel, I just know that I'm overwhelmed by a weird hopeless-ish, sad-ish, frustrated-ish feeling that I don't even have a name for. She took one look at my appearance and I could see the concern gathering in her eyes. I love clothes and shoes and bags and accessories so it's completely out of character to show up to work looking like I just rolled out of bed. Caroline knows it too.

"Coffee?" Caroline smiled her best cheerleader smile and pushed me back into the elevator before I could even answer. As soon as the doors closed and we're alone she got serious. "Ok, El, hit me with it, am I going to need therapy for whatever is going on?"

"No," I laughed and I knew exactly what she was talking about. I went through a really rough period when we were kids and we were both so young. One day I was fine and then I got sick at school, sick turned into _really_ sick, which turned into seven months in intensive care at VCU Children's Hospital. Her mom brought her to visit me almost every day and we played paper dolls and drew dresses like everything was normal, but neither of us understood it. I know what she's thinking right now: she's thinking about those seven months of snuggling together on a child-sized hospital bed to watch _Clarissa Explains it All_. It's one of those laugh or cry situations and we've decided to just laugh about it because it's in the past and it's over. Even with my laugh she didn't seem convinced, so I grabbed her shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. "I promise it's not anything like _that_ , Care. You would be the first to know if it were."

"Thank GOD!" she shouted in the small elevator and her shoulders dropped like someone just snipped the cords that were holding her up. She pulled me into another hug and rested her chin on my shoulder. "What are the wrinkly chinos about then? Are we channeling grunge next season?"

"I'll get over it," I said quietly and hugged her a little more tightly. "It's just a stupid thing."

"Anything I can do?" she offered as she pulled away from the hug that really did make me feel a lot better. It's a pretty silly question because this is Caroline Forbes we're talking about, there's _always_ something that she can figure out to do. She's a meddler in the extreme.

"Can you promise not to laugh about what I'm going to ask next?"

"Of course I won't laugh, El! Lay it on me! What's our next mission?"

"Damon," I mumble. I'm a little shy about it, even in front of Caroline.

"Done," she beamed without even missing a beat and she knows exactly what I mean. It's not completely surprising because this was her intention all along but I had expected at least a little gloating. I appreciate that she didn't because I'm putting a lot on the line here. "Date-date or drinks-and-back-to-your-place date?"

"The first one," I admitted. I know it's weird that I can't even admit that I _want_ someone but it seems too close to admitting that I _need_ someone and I'm just not _that_ girl. I'm the one who keeps things together, I'm strong, I'm independent, or at least that's what I've convinced myself.

"Hey," Caroline interjected and squeezed my hand. "I know what you're thinking and you're being silly. There's nothing wrong with wanting someone to share your life with, Elena. You deserve someone awesome and from what I know of Damon, I think he does too. And I think you guys will be perfect for each other." _Freaky mindreader_.

"Thanks, Care."

"Ok, now enough moping, we have a _ton_ of work to do and then we have to get you down to the samples closet because _this_ is just going to depress me all day," she announced and pulled out her notepad as we exited the lift and headed for our regular coffee table in the lobby. "First of all, we need a date and reservations. Then we _have_ to go shopping. Do you think Kiks can handle the design meeting this afternoon? Of course she can, we're going to Barney's. Do you still have those brown Ferragamo heels?"

"Yeah," I nodded and felt immediately better. Everyone should have a Caroline on their side. I know that if she's behind this whole event it will go off smoothly.

"Perfect. I'm thinking a deep red or maroon cocktail dress and a soft up do. You can borrow my new necklace. We'll see if he's available on Wednesday. That guy with the weird tan at that fancy restaurant on Broadway owes us a favor for the whole skirt disaster last spring."

"Oh, hey, by the way… you didn't tell me Damon had a kid."

"I didn't?" she responded without even looking up from her phone where she was furiously texting. "My bad, I thought I told you."

"You definitely didn't."

"Huh," she shrugged and looked up at me with an indiscernible expression. "Does it make a difference?"

"I'm not exactly the nurturing mother type, Care."

"Whatever you say," she actually rolled her eyes at me. "But again, does it make a difference?"

"Well, no, but I just didn't expect it, that's all."

"Babe, sometimes you just have to let go a little and embrace the unexpected. Does this taste like milk to you? I specifically asked for soy," she adroitly changes the subject and hands me her cup. It does kind of taste like milk. It surprises me that she has a point, it really _doesn't_ make a difference to me that Damon has a daughter. We definitely won't be stripping each other and getting down to adult business on his couch or anything, but I'm also surprised to find that I'm not upset about that.

By the time we'd drained our much-needed coffee Caroline had a superb evening planned out, right down to the handbag. All that I had to do was get Damon to agree to it. Well I guess first I had to muster the courage to _ask_ Damon. Usually, I have no problem approaching men. Like I said I'm a modern post-lib woman, I've got no qualms about getting what I want but Damon intimidates me a little, in a good way, of course. I just feel like I can't afford to screw this up. I really want to get to know him better and I feel weirdly attached to the idea of making it work. Whatever _it_ is.

When I was sitting downstairs with Caroline it seemed so simple, I would just walk up to him and ask but now that I'm waiting in my office for him to stop by I'm feeling self-conscious and _inadequate_ , if that's the right word for it. Luckily, I don't have too much time to dwell on it because he pops by right when I can feel my nerve starting to bleed away. For a split second I wonder how upset Caroline would be if I just forgot the whole thing and went back to hating him.

"You rang?" Damon drawls easily and sits in his usual chair across from me. Yeah, he's got a "usual chair" now because he's been spending so much time in here, for the case, of course.

"Oh yeah," I clear my throat, _here goes nothing_. "I was wondering if you would be interested in having dinner on Wednesday. With me. After work?"

"Miss Gilbert, are you asking me on a date?" he grins and it shakes what little confidence I have out of me because I can't quite tell if he's teasing me or not. I hate being laughed at.

"No!"

"I can't on Wednesday," he says nonchalantly and I'll admit, I'm a little (lot) crushed. I didn't think it would _that_ easy for him to turn me down. "Hannah has ballet lessons until eight. Call it 'old fashioned' but I like to ask for the first date."

"Oh," I answer lamely and try to smile. I guess I understand the ballet lesson thing and I'm a little embarrassed that I didn't think about checking with him _before_ planning an awesome date.

"So in the spirit of asking for a first date, would you like to have a after-work dinner with me this Friday?" he manages without bursting into laughter at my awkwardness even though I can tell he wants to. I just roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest because, again, I can't tell if he's really asking me or if he's making fun of me. His grin shrivels slightly into a soft smile and he leans forward with his hands against my desk. "But seriously, Elena, I mean it. Friday night?"

"Ok," I answer and I blush all the way to my hairline. That's certainly never happened since like the ninth grade. I'm not a blusher, but the earnestness in his eyes and his smile when I said 'yes' are enough to do me in. Crap, I didn't even say 'yes' I said 'ok' which is crazy lame. "I mean I'd love to." _Smooth Elena, really smooth._

"Sweet," Damon answers with a bright smile and a fist pump and it's pretty great. He actually seems excited on his way out of my office, which makes two of us. "I'll call around and get back to you this afternoon."

"Oh hey, by the way, Elena," he leans back into the doorway. "Your hair looks pretty today."

And there's that damn blush again. He has to know that I am a walking disaster today, he's used to seeing me with polished, straight locks, full make up, and crisply-pressed clothes not sloppy waves and rumpled khakis. His compliment makes me feel light years better and I'm almost completely recovered from my crappy night, just like that.

I whip out my phone and text Caroline about the change of plans and it's not even three seconds before she's bursting through my door with a mile-wide smile on her face rambling about double dates and her fantasy vacation to Jackson Hole. For the first time in a long time I dive head long into the girly chatter with Caroline and it feels like we're back in our little studio apartment again.

Friday can't come fast enough.

 **xo**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you for all of the kind reviews and mentions, ya'll are simply the best! I have to apologize that this update took so long, I had the draft nearly perfect and then my computer was stolen. I had to start the whole story over from scratch so please bear with me :)**

It's Friday, _the_ Friday. I have a date.

I was excited until about two hours ago, now I'm just a live wire of anxiety and deep personality flaws. I've already FaceTimed Caroline twice to get apparel approval and called my Mom once. It's not like I don't _date,_ I do. I just don't date for longevity. Usually, to me, a date is an event meant to fill some time. I haven't been out with someone that I really cared about seeing again in… ever. So starting out, this thing with Damon is already different. A. We work together. Sure, if things so way south I could fire him but he's so good and he's already done so much for the company. And B. I think I might genuinely _like_ him. Insane thought, I know.

I'm just about to succumb to my insecurities and make up some exotic illness that precludes me from going out with him when a knock shears through the thick silence in my flat.

"Hi," I smile widely as I open the door, I'm already drowning in his blue eyes. He looks so much different than he does around the office, his smile is broad and light. He's eschewed the usual tailored suits, he's wearing Adidas warm up pants and a grey Yale hoodie. Wait… _what_?

I look down at the burgundy satin Yves St. Laurent sheath dress I absconded from Cosmo's sample closet with last month and feel a little more than slightly out-of-place. The dress is just this side of body con and I know _exactly_ what it does for my figure, if Damon's darkening eyes and exaggerated swallow are any indications, he does too. I'm confident and powerful in this dress, two things I _need_ to be tonight. However, my sky-high nude Louboutins really clash with his… whatever those trainer-things he's wearing are.

"Yeah, so I decided to go unconventional," he says with a chuckle once he meets my eyes again. "You're not a San Remo kind of woman so I figured you wouldn't be the wine and dine kind of woman either."

"What do you have in mind?" I ask, trying to hide my disappointment that I spent the last three and a half hours getting ready for a "wine and dine" kind of date, right down to coordinated panty-pedi color scheme. He does have a point though, I've never enjoyed nights out like that before.

"Rock climbing," he grins happily.

"You're serious?" I can't help but smile a little at his enthusiasm.

"Yep," he answers popping the last letter with a smile. "Not that you don't look delicious in that dress, but you're going to have to change. I'll wait."

"Rock climbing?" I ask again just to make sure. I'm not looking forward to peeling myself out of this dress and I'm especially not looking forward to getting out of the lingerie underneath. I'm only taking this off once. I'd hoped he'd be taking it off later, but we can't get everything we want.

"Not if you take much longer to change," he smiles again. Absolutely gorgeous. I turn to go scrounge some workout clothes from my closet when he grabs my hand and spins me back towards him and looks me up and down. "Just one more look."

"Time's a-tickin'" I playfully admonish and toss my curled hair over my shoulder.

"How attached to the idea of going _out_ are you?" he asks in a low, gravelly tone that threatens to weaken my resolve. An hour ago, I wouldn't have been too attached at all. I would have thrown my bedroom door open and welcomed his focus and attention all night long. However, now that my hand is in his and he's getting excited about sharing something he enjoys with me I realize that this might be too big to throw away on a one-night stand. This could be more than sex, this could even be more than really, really great sex. I _want_ to go out with him and learn more about him. I _want_ the awkward twenty questions over dinner and dessert. I really want to go on this date.

"You've piqued my interest with this rock climbing thing and you can't back out now," I tease and wiggle my hand free from his. "This old thing will be around for another night."

"I certainly hope so."

"Make yourself comfortable, I won't take too long," I gesture to my sofa and I'm grateful I swiped off all of my paperwork before he arrived. As weird as it sounds, it is a little different for me for someone to pick me up for a date. I usually meet the guy at the restaurant or they send a driver to come pick me up. It's making me all sorts of teenage-giddy that Damon is here in my apartment waiting on me.

As soon as I get back to my bedroom I tear through my closet. I haven't had time to send my laundry out for a while so I'm down to bare necessities at the moment. Luckily I find a pair of clean grey yoga pants and a Lululemon tank that is just low-cut enough to be cute for a date. I dig my Nike trainers out of the back of my show rack and I hope Damon won't make fun of the Tiffany blue color. It's a weird feeling to be self-conscious, I feel like Damon is way out of my league and despite Caroline's assurance that that's not the case, it's still in the back of my mind. He's well-educated, well-connected, and at the top of his field, just his _presence_ commands respect. Then there's me: the girl from the sticks who draws pictures for a living—Elena the Mighty.

I shake the negativity out of my bones and tie my hair in a flirty pony. I'm good enough for him, damnit, and I'm good enough to be happy. You've got this Elena, you Queen you.

When I strut back out into the living room he's looking comfortable and at home on the sofa flipping through last month's Vanity Fair. I like that he's comfortable.

"You're kind of a big deal, huh?" he smiles and holds the magazine open to the page featuring a half-page color photo of Caroline and I with Michele Obama at the White House Correspondent's dinner earlier this year. It's not unusual for artists, media figures, and fashion designers to be invited to the event but it still kicked ass. Caroline is still holding out hope that the First Lady will wear one of our designs someday.

"Me no, I'm just the 'big deal's' business partner." I'm not affected by false modesty, I'm just honest.

He just smirks and shakes his head before he stands up. I realize that I've never been around him without the assistance of four-inch heels before. He towers over me.

"Ready to head out," he asks and tries to inconspicuously wipe his hands against his pants. There's no way _I_ could possibly make him nervous.

The ride to the gym is short but the ever-present Manhattan traffic gives us a few minutes to chat. I learn a lot about him from those few minutes. I learn that he really loves rock climbing and all things out of doors. He and Stefan road trip out to Utah once a year to spend a week climbing and mountain biking in Bryce Canyon. I don't really have much to contribute since my last bike still had training wheels but I have been to Bryce. We shot one of our first lines there. All I remember was the fine coat of red clay dust that accumulated on everything, including our floor-length ivory raw-silk gowns.

"That stuff is hellish, Stef and I got caught in a rainstorm and if you think that shit is annoying when it's dry… it basically turns into Crisco when it's wet. We tried to get up the dirt road to our campsite and wrecked the rental car. Lesson learned: always pay the $4.99 a day for damage coverage. We're still paying that car off," he laughs. He's so different than at work. I like the stories he tells when he's not trying to impress the girls in the office and all is attention is on me (and not freaking Rebekah). I like how he talks about his brother. He'd like my brother and Jeremy would love him. If we ever get to the "meet the family" stage, I mean.

We get to the gym in a few mercifully-short minutes. I'm not forced to roll out any awkward conversation starters, the kind I'm really good at, you know, like "so you like food, huh?" Damon already knows how inelegant I can be when I get nervous, but I'm not in a hurry to reinforce the idea that I'm a bumbling ball of neuroses.

Rock climbing is actually a pretty genius design on his part. It's a good excuse for him to help me slip into a safety harness and to show off exactly how he's earned his physique.

"Alright, your arms are mostly for balance, all of your power is going to come from your legs," he explains with his hands on my waist and his chest brushing against my back as he double and triple checks all of the buckles and knots on my harness. "Are you afraid of heights?"

"No." _Yes_. The better questions would be what kind of rational person isn't afraid of heights? Heights are for birds, jets, and penthouses, not humans dangling from skinny ropes.

"Alright then, show me what you've got, Gilbert. Follow the red lines up, I'll belay you so don't worry about falling."

"I have no idea what that means, but ok." I take a deep breath and approach the wall with all the determination of a woman with her mind made up. I'm going to do this and I'm going to kick ass at it. I'm going to show Damon that I'm the kind of girl who can keep up with him and maybe even impress him. I'm Elena Gilbert, no little wall is going to stand in the way of me and my super hot date. Rawr.

I actually even impress myself when I realize I'm about halfway up the wall. I took Damon's advice and used my legs to push myself up but my arms are already tingling a little. The key to this, I am finding, is not to look down or to look up. Just look at the wall directly in front of you. That way you have no idea that you're perilously hanging from a wall at an altitude that won't exactly kill you on impact but will definitely hurt… a lot.

When I finally make it to the top I am elated. I feel accomplished and strong and… terrified. I'm about forty feet off the ground, clinging to a handhold the size of my iPhone. I start to panic in earnest, my arms are too tired to get back down but they are the only thing standing between me and certain morbidity at the moment.

"Just let go, Elena," Damon calls from somewhere far, far below me.

"Sure, let go and die!"

"You're not going to die, I've got you." Easy for him to say, he's on solid ground and not dangling fifty feet in the air. I don't move a muscle but I can feel the harness around my waist tighten slightly. Sorcery. "The rope is tight, just let go."

I make the ill-timed mistake of looking over my shoulder and realizing that I'm more like a dizzying sixty feet off the ground. My hands are sweating too much to keep holding on so I just take a deep breath and let go. To my surprise, I don't plummet to the ground but rather start to descend very slowly and surprisingly safely. My the time I hit the way my legs are numb and Damon catches me.

"Not afraid of heights, huh?"

"Yeah," I manage breathily. His proximity is making me dizzy for a whole other reason. We haven't been this close before. His arms are securely around me and I realize that my hips are pressed against his. "No, it's fine."

He chuckles and moves away slowly, making certain that I can stand before letting me go completely.

"Nice job, that was a hard one. Not many first-timers can do the twenty-five footer."

"Twenty-five feet!" I exclaim and throw my hands in the air. "That was only twenty-five freaking feet?"

"I mean, I don't want to make you feel bad but that's Hannah's favorite route."

"I'm hearing a lot of talk, Salvatore, but all I've seen you do is hold the rope."

"Smart ass."

"Don't act like you haven't been staring at it all night."

"You're something else," he chuckles and shakes his head.

"I'm awesome." Oh yeah, side note, when I'm nervous I get obnoxious. I'm apparently very nervous, ergo, I'm very obnoxious. It's one of those teenage habits I never grew out of unfortunately.

Damon rescues me from myself by suggesting a few more climbs and by the end of the third route I'm shaking the life back into my dead arms and stretching out my legs that will certainly be cramped up tomorrow. Still, it's the most fun I've ever had on a date. This sure beats meeting a guy in a dimly-lit steakhouse for awkward conversation over tiny food on big plates.

"Hungry?" he asks casually slinging his arm over my shoulder as we leave the gym and head back to his car. It's so natural I almost follow it by hugging my arm around his waist but I don't. I'm not sure why.

"Starving," I smile and blush. _This_ was all really easy back inside the gym where there were plenty of distractions but with every step those distractions are falling away and soon it's just going to be the two of us back in the quiet of his car. I ran out of things to saw about seven minutes after he picked me up. I guess I could always revert to my usual tactics of co-opting Jeremy's travel tales as my own, but I think Damon would catch on.

He opens the door for me and I slide in like nothing is wrong, but inside I'm panicking again.

"I know you _think_ Bravo's has the best burger in town but that's only because you haven't been to The Brindle Room," he says and I feel like he has to realize that my psyche is collapsing on on itself right now. "How are your arms?"

"I don't think I'll be able to move them tomorrow," I smile. Just one question at a time and I can do this without blowing it. "That was fun though."

"I'm glad you liked it," he's about to say something else but his cell phone rings. He takes a quick look at the caller ID. "Do you mind for a second?"

I shake my head because I'm impressed he even thought to ask. Most people have their phones latched to their person twenty four/seven and don't think twice about hitting that 'accept' button anytime the ringtone chimes. It makes me feel pretty special that he asked.

"Hi sweetie," he answers and I assume it's Hannah based on how happy he sounds to be talking to her. "Are you having fun with grandma and grandpa?…. oh yeah?… grandma's teaching you how to make muffins?… they'll be the best best muffins in the whole world… ok, have fun… I love you, Little One… hey, Mom," this is too much, he's making me want to meet his mom and take him to Virginia to meet my mom. "Did she eat dinner?… good, I don't know what I'm doing wrong… she eats for freaking Stefan, Ma… whatever… we're going to get dinner right now… ok, bye now Ma… nope, bye… good bye, Mother."

"Sorry," he sighs and drops his phone in the cupholder.

"Don't be," I smile. "I talk to my parents pretty much every day."

"Are they in the city?" he asks as he parallel parks. Out of everything, that may impress me the most. I've lived here for so long I can barely drive anymore, let alone get my tiny Honda in a curbside spot.

"Oh god no, my Mom hates the city. They live in Virginia, a couple of hours outside Richmond. My dad is an entomology professor at Whitmore College, he comes up every couple of months to work on research at the Museum of Natural History. My Mom came once and couldn't sleep for the entire week because of the traffic noise."

"Hannah would love that, she's in a major bug phase right now. Last month was dinosaurs."

"You say 'phase' like you're not going to wake up with seventeen hundred hissing cockroaches in your basement one day." I must be talking louder than I thought because two pretty blonde girls waiting in line outside the Brindle House turn their heads and stare. Could be the roaches, could be Damon's laugh, could be Damon. Who knows?

"Seventeen hundred?"

"Oh yeah, my Dad is studying their ability to navigate electromagnetic fields. My Mom thought he was just being lofty and talking theory until UPS asked her to sign for twelve boxes marked 'Live Insects, Keep Out Of Direct Sunlight.'"

"She can keep the bugs in her room at Stefan's."

"Mister Salvatore, welcome back," the host smiles widely and is leading us past a line of people to a table. He leaves us at the table with two menus and I realize how crowded it is. This is the kind of place that probably takes weeks to get a reservation but Damon didn't ask me out until a couple of days ago. It kind of makes me wonder exactly what he does at work when he's not working with me.

"So is Stefan a lawyer, too?"

"Nope, Stef's a kept man."

"Like a house husband?"

"Pretty much, his wife is a hotshot cardiothoracic surgeon at Mt. Sinai. Lex travels a lot to conferences and lectures and crap so Stef has pretty much made a career out of traveling with her. He books her schedule and organizes her travel, blah, blah."

"So why aren't you working for Greenpeace or something?"

"I used to work for Earth Justice."

"Did you like it?"

" _Loved_ it."

"Why'd you quit?"

"I loved my Hannah more," Heavens to Betsy! Can he just stop right now? Every time he opens his stupidly perfect mouth something comes out that makes me want to punch him. Not because I don't like it, it just frustrates me. He's so damn perfect. What do I have to offer in return: neuroses, an eighty-hour work week, riveting tales of online shopping for a new castle for Jaws? "I became a Dad and suddenly making thirty thousand dollars a year and sharing an apartment with three other guys didn't seem like such a great life. I was getting arrested regularly for unlawful protests and disturbing the peace and my roommates were growing pot in the linen closet. Not such a great life for a kid. I wanted Hannah to have all of the advantages I did growing up and it just wasn't possible with that job. So I moved to the city, sold out, and here I am. I still do a lot of pro bono stuff, the partners hate it but fuck 'em. It's the only way I can hold on to the last few shreds of sanity I have."

"What are you working on now?"

"You know that big resort Lockwood and Donovan Trust are trying to build on Fire Island?"

"Oh yeah, with the ocean-front cabanas and the infinity pool? That place is going to be swanky."

"No it won't, they're not going to build it."

"What? Why not?"

"Fire Island is one of the most productive ecosystems in the Northeast, not to mention that waterfront development would decimate the horseshoe crab spawning site. Why should a couple of dickheads with some bucks get to pave over it and build a retreat for the rich and tragically disconnected? They can have their asses chauffeured out to Montauk."

"Oh please, Damon, you drive a brand new Audi and wear Armani to work?"

"Would you have hired me if I hadn't?" and with that he stops me. The truth is, I _don't know_ if I would have. In one evening he's already deconstructing me. He's showing me how much I've become part of the high fashion world. I like to think of myself as Mystic Falls Elena and champion apple pie maker, but the truth is I'm not that girl anymore. I'm the woman who would stay at the swanky Fire Island resort because it's thirty minutes closer than Montauk, horseshoe crabs be damned. I wonder if the Miss Mystic runner-up is still there somewhere, and if I'd be able to get her back.

"You hate working on my case, don't you?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. I'm sure that to him I am one of the "rich and tragically disconnected," embroiled in an E!-worthy lawsuit with my baby sister because she's stealing dresses from my BFF and me. From that perspective it seems devastatingly petty and… _small._

" _Hate_ is a strong word," he smirks. I knew it.

"But you do."

"I _did_ ," he answers with a smile that's not a smirk and doesn't hold any regret or resentment.

That's about as heavy as our night gets, luckily. He shares a few stories about his and Stefan's misadventures and crazy things he did in college. Nothing he says is helping me _not_ want him. But the want I'm feeling is new and big and dangerous. It's the kind of want that wants to keep him in my life. I've never wanted anything other than my job and Fashion Week before and tonight I've completely forgotten about all of the things Caroline and I have to finish before our runway show. I've forgotten that two of our models are getting sniffly and will probably have full blown typhoid but the time the show rolls around. I've forgotten that we still need to finish at least three complete ensembles and confirm the menu with our caterer. Everything I've been stressing about and ulcerating my stomach over for the past six months has evaporated. Damon has managed to, in the course of an evening, eclipse everything I had held so important for so long; and that _terrifies_ me. The magnitude of his power over me terrifies me. The fact that he can laugh at my stupid jokes and make me feel more special than I did the day we got the Fashion Week invitation terrifies me. I don't scare easily but I'm scared now.

I'm scared that I'm falling for Damon.

 **xoxo**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks for your patience my dearest readers! Special thanks to scarlett2112 for her shout out, I HEART you!**

 **Enjoy ;)**

Do I wish Damon had kissed me when he dropped me off last night? Yeah. Do I wish that I'd had the nerve to kiss him? Yep. Have I been staring out the window for the past forty-five minutes thinking about how awkward it's going to be to see him at work today? Right again. My green tea has long since cooled in the mug that's clenched in my shaking hand. I know I need to leave for work like fifteen minutes ago but I still don't have a script together yet. What am I supposed to say? "Good morning, Damon. Looks like snow today. How's the case going? Why didn't you kiss me last night?"

Maybe I should just play it cool. I'm sure he has his reasons for not kissing me and who am I to question what his comfort level is with physicality? Maybe he's a kiss-on-the-second-date kind of guy. It's not like he just pulled up to the curb and kicked me out of his car. He was so sweet and chivalrous, he walked me all the way to my door… with his hands jammed in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. I invited him in for a nightcap, and I really did mean just for one drink, get your mind out of the gutter! He politely declined, which hurt my feelings a little. I think he could tell because he quickly explained that he hasn't ever _not_ tucked Hannah in for bed and it was already almost eleven o'clock. He did kiss me on the cheek and on the back of my hand. It's not like kissing me a little more would have made him late or anything but whatever. Maybe he just didn't _want_ to kiss me. Maybe I scared him away with the roach story or the creepy staring. That's probably more likely.

I'm so distracted by my meltdown that I don't even pay attention to the metro ride to the office. I don't usually like the metro- it's always crowded and stuffy. It's also inexplicably hot and humid in the winter despite being fifteen below zero outside. I don't get it. At least I can thank Damon and his non-kissing-ness for making today's ride a little shorter.

By the time I get to work I'm actually pretty pissed that Damon didn't kiss me. If he didn't want to he should have been "man" enough to just say so instead of making up some story. At least then he wouldn't be leading me on like a tease. I hate him again. At least I've fixed one of my problems.

It's too bad that I've only fixed _one_ problem because there's a litany of them waiting at the office for me. The elevator opens to Caroline throwing a fit with our receptionist, Amber.

"I can't believe this, Amber! Tell me exactly what he said!" Caroline shrieks. She must be really angry, she's usually the "good cop" out of the two of us. I can see poor Amber's hand tremble as she reaches for the pink _While You Were Out_ slip on her desk. "Spit it out!"

"She just said that he… he got another… a different offer, and… and…" our sweet, naive teenage employee stutters under Scare Bear's death glare.

"Gee darnit, Amber! You didn't think to _ask_ for any details or… I don't know, put her through to your _boss_?" Caroline is almost screaming. "If I can't count on you to do the one simple, mindless thing you sit your behind in that chair to do, how am I supposed to get anything done during the day?!"

"Caroline!" I intervene, I love her but that comment was too far. "Care, what the hell?"

"Jesus Pete! Where have _you_ been?"

"I'm still twenty minutes early, calm down."

"Calm down? _Calm. Down?_ " she's on the verge of hyperventilating. "We just lost Testino. _TESTINO_. And guess to whom?" She waving the message slip in my face but I can see the caller clearly enough: All Starr Designs.

Katherine.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me?!" I grumble and snatch the note. I crumple it up and toss it in the rubbish bin. I don't know why it surprises me that Katherine would do something like that. After all, she's met all of our biggest contacts in the industry and knows how to flirt her way into whatever she wants.

"Nope, where the eff is Damon? This is his problem, Elena. Why isn't he fixing this? I'm going to effing fire his behind if he doesn't freaking make this ok!"

"Alright, Care, come on down. We can figure this out. I mean, we didn't even think we'd get Testino for the show, so who were our other choices?" Just because I'm angry with Damon doesn't mean that I want to fire him. I can't even think about how _that_ would go down.

"It doesn't freaking matter, _Elena_ ," she seethes and says my name just like she did when we were in high school and she got frustrated because I blew first prize at the science fair by doing our experiment in standard units. "We had Mario Testino photographing _our_ show at freaking Fashion Week!"

"And now we don't, so we need a back up plan."

"How can you possibly be so calm about this? Did you _finally_ sleep with Damon or something?"

Hey Universe, you hear that? That was your opportunity to make this incredibly awkward by… oh wait, nope, that elevator ding right there. It's Damon! Talk about walking into the lion's den. I'm sure all he sees is Caroline and I sparring over the reception desk while our terrified minor looks on helplessly wishing that she could call security. And it's not like Caroline whispered her comment softly, practically the whole office heard her. So much for privacy and maintaining the respect of my co-workers.

"Ladies," Damon nods so casually that it makes me wonder if he heard Caroline. He walks by and doesn't even smile at me, so yeah, he heard. He heard and he's pissed. Out of the corner of my eye I see him make his way to the conference room where he's set up his temporary office.

"Elena!" Caroline whines and stomps her foot, calling my attention back to her. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry, Care, I have to…" I wave awkwardly and excuse myself, knowing that I'll have to deal with Caroline's wrath later, hopefully after she calms down a bit.

I beeline to the conference room. I know I should let Damon be. We're professionals in the work place and discussing our out-of-work relationship is crazy inappropriate but I have to know why he's suddenly turned into a coldfront.

"Hey," I peep awkwardly and nearly trip over the conference room threshold.

"'Morning," he replies without even looking up from his computer. Whatever is on the screen must be incredibly interesting because he's just typing away without a care in the world.

"So…" I try to smile adorably. He's usually so responsive to my smile.

"I got Caroline's e-mail and I'm working on it. You never had Testudo sign a contract so you're shit out of luck for keeping him on the hook for your show."

"Testino, Mario Testino. He's kind of a big deal," I chuckle to try and lighten the mood.

"I'm sure," Damon says and I swear I see him roll his eyes. I try not to get angry at his dismissiveness; I know he's just annoyed about Caroline's comment. Of course, after his comments last night he may think I'm just a money-driven consumerist drone… he thought that of me before, so why wouldn't he now?

"How was your drive home?" I try again, the commute home is a safe topic.

"Can we not do this at work?" he sighs and finally looks at me.

"Do what?" I ask like I don't know that he's about to break my heart. I mean, if I cared about him what he's undoubtedly about the say would break my heart.

"Look, Elena," he looks back at his computer screen. He can't even look me in the eye. "I had a great time last night, I really did, but it's obviously going to cause problems with your work."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying we just put this _whatever_ on ice for now. I don't really appreciate being the hot gossip topic with the office women."

"'The office women?' Are you serious right now?"

"How would you feel about hearing those things about you first thing in the morning?"

"Wake up, Damon! Every woman has heard those things about herself. Did you even read the caption under the picture of Caroline and I with the First freaking Lady of the United States? 'Michele Obama poses with two gorgeous New York City designers.' Not even a _name_ , Damon, just two pretty girls. I get that you're pissed and what happened was incredibly unprofessional on Caroline's part but you have no right to take this out on me. I had nothing to do with that."

"And how did Caroline get the idea that we'd be sleeping together?"

"I honestly have no idea, I don't think anyone could reasonably deduce that we're sleeping together." _Whoa girl, whoa. Shut this train down._

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that there's really no evidence that anyone could possible divine from our encounters to indicate that you'd even be interested in sleeping with me." _Yoohoo, Elena! Shut your damn mouth!_

"What are you talking about?"

"Why didn't you kiss me last night?" _Girl… you're on your own for this one._

Damon doesn't even answer, he just shakes his head and scrubs his hands over his face. Good bye Testino, good bye Damon, good bye dignity. It's a day of great parting apparently.

"Whatever, I don't even care right now," I say with feigned finality, but I do care. I so, so care. "Just fix this photographer mess."

I slam my office door and punch my iMac's on button. I need some kitten GIFs and I don't care who's watching. They can bite me. This morning sucks. This is all Caroline's fault, I want to pluck her pretty blonde hair out one strand at a time. She's always had a big mouth that moves faster than her brain, this isn't the first time it's gotten us into trouble but it does feel like the worst. It's not even like what she said was _that_ bad. It was a little crass and a little unprofessional but I don't think it warranted Damon's reaction. It's probably actually Damon's fault. Caroline was just being Caroline, it's Damon fault he got so offended. Of course if Amber would have just taken that damn message appropriately none of it ever would have happened. At the root of it all, it's really Katherine's fault for stealing Testino to begin with. She's not even in Manhattan and she's ruined our fashion show, strained my friendship with Caroline, and probably destroyed my relationship with Damon. She's good, I'll give her that. This is the modern version of Medusa turning people to stone except if I actually was turned to stone I wouldn't be able to run my stupid mouth.

I keep myself occupied on Reddit for at least an hour before I hear Caroline squeal next door. It's not her rage squeaks from earlier so three… two… one…

"Oh my gosh, El!" she twitters and dramatically sweeps into my office. "Guess what?"

"I'm not really…"

"Demarchelier! Patrick _and_ Victor in a father-son collaboration."

"You better not be messing with me, Care," I say and stand up so fast I knock an empty coffee cup off of my desk. "Please don't be messing with me right now."

"Nope, totes finalized. They're photographing our show!" she shouts and starts dancing. "Thirty second dance party!"

In spite of my bad mood I have to join in. We're all graceless elbows and bobbing knees, I know we look ridiculous but it feels good to be ridiculous. Caroline grabs my hand and twirls under my arm, then does the opposite and twirls me under hers.

"We're not going to be able to do this when we're as famous as Kate Spade. We'll have to be all respectable and classy," Caroline giggles and collapses onto the sofa, pulling me down with her so that we're leaning against each other in a heap.

"Oh please, we could win a Nobel prize and would still dance party it up."

"Your man delivered," she says lightly and nudges my Prada boot with the pointy toe Jimmy Choo stiletto.

"I don't think he's mine, Care," I mumble. The lightness and fun of our moment just fell in on my head. "He didn't kiss me."

"Oh Elena," Caroline sighs again. "That doesn't mean anything."

"He didn't kiss me, Care. We spent the whole evening together, I thought everything was going great and then he dropped me off at home and kiss my hand and my cheek but he didn't kiss _me_. I told the roach story and I think it weirded him out. I'm such a freak, Care. How is anyone ever supposed to be into _this_?" I mutter, feeling incredibly sorry for myself.

"First of all, give Damon a break. He may surprise you," Caroline instructs.

"Please, he was practically drooling over Rebekah."

"Pssht, he was giving her an ago boost. Just give him a minute, El. Secondly, you're hot and successful. Shoot, I'm kind of into you. Now turn that frown upside down sister, we're getting the Demarcheliers to photograph our show and guess who else can say that?"

"No one."

"Darn skippy, now get back to work. We don't pay ourselves to sit on our touches all day," Caroline pulls me up and hugs me before literally skipping gout of my office.

I do feel a little better. Damongate may not be solved, but at least our show is safe. Better than safe, even. Having both Demarcheliers at the show is going to bring in a lot of big names and even more press. We could land in all of the big magazines for this one. If I thought getting a Fashion Week show was big, this is HUGE. We're on the brink of everything we've ever wanted.

I just stand at my window and stare at the city skyline. Despite my excitement I still kind of wish I was home to celebrate with my family. I should call my parents and tell them the good news. I'm worried they'll ask me about Katherine and rain on my parade. Of course, I would love to the see the look on Katherine's face when she finds out that we got both Demarcheliers. I might actually get the opportunity to be a little smug over this whole thing.

"I'm guessing Forbes shared the new?" Damon's smooth voice cuts through my self-satisfied moment. I feel so good right now that it _almost_ doesn't hurt that he doesn't want me.

"I did, great work on that. It's unprecedented. We'll be headlining in a number of ways thanks to you."

"Glad to be of service," he nods and turns to leave.

"Damon," I say and he faces me expectantly. I know he wants me to say something important and something big. But I just can't, not right now. "Thank you."

He nods and gives me a small smile. I'm going to let him retreat and feel bad. I don't like torturing him, but I've been torturing myself all night and all morning, I have to share the burden with someone. He's almost out when he knocks his knuckles against the door frame before gently shutting the door and coming to stand right in front of me.

"What I said about tucking Hannah in was completely true," he says honestly. I have to believe him because he's just so earnest. He closes the distance between us until I'm trapped between him and the plate glass window looking out over Central Park. "I didn't kiss you because I knew that if I got one taste of your lips I wouldn't be able to stop."

"Oh." _Poet of a generation here._

"You don't see it, do you?" he asks softly and tilts my chin up, meeting my eyes so intensely that it's a little uncomfortable. He runs his thumb over my bottom lip and I can't help but wish he was kissing me right now.

"See what?"

"How incredible you are."

I just look down and shrug because I don't have an answer that he'd like. The truth is, I'm not incredible. I'm average but lucky. I'm not as pretty as my sister, I'm not as funny as my brother, I'm not as talented as Caroline but when people see you in the same room as people like that for so long it kind of rubs off on you. Damon is a bright, bright light and maybe I don't deserve him. He's smart and passionate and kind and sweet and he challenges me. He's incredible and I feel like maybe he doesn't see that.

"Promise me something, Elena?"

"What?"  
"That you'll try to start seeing what everyone else already does… what I've seen from the first moment I laid eyes on you."

"Ok."

He shakes his head and exhales in something that sounds like a chuckle. His hair falls across his forehead wildly and I want to run my hands through it and tug it in all different directions. He leans his forehead against mine before bringing my hands between us and kissing gym knuckles.

"I'm trying to do everything right this time, Elena. I don't want to screw anything up."

Just like that I find that I've completely forgiven Damon and there are no more problems on my list.

 **xoxo**


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. I know a lot of you are interested in Hannah's mum; that's coming next chapter :)**

Caroline and I just finished our first conference call with Patrick and Victor Demarchelier. Let me repeat that… Patrick _and_ Victor Demarchelier. We talked about the idea and moods behind our new line and about the different ensembles we're going to be showing. They were both, of course, full of great ideas on how to maximize the tone and feeling of the show. They are both such visionaries; I mean, I've heard about them from colleagues but I never thought we would be working with them. I'm so checking this off my dream list.

I think the ulcers in my stomach are starting to heal over; Caroline delegated out a large portion of my "worry list" and it's nearly complete. Press, food, drivers, venue, everything— all done. I'm still worried that Nina and Candace are going to be sick for the show and we'll have to find some last minute replacement models, but if that's all that I have to lose sleep over I'm happy. Nina actually did look a little better today.

I even had time to run out to Two Little Red Hens and grab a box of cupcakes for Amber as a peace offering. I really hope Caroline didn't hurt her too badly with her comments. Her skin will get thicker as she gets older, but I don't want to be responsible for scarring a kid who is just starting out.

"Hi Amber," I smile as I approach her desk. I can see that she's already bracing for the worst and I feel so freaking guilty about that.

"Hi Ms. Gilbert," she mumbles and pushes her glasses back up her nose nervously.

"These are for you," I slide the cupcakes to her and smile even wider until I realize I probably look more like a shark than I do a welcoming face so I stop. "I'm really sorry about this morning. Caroline and I had no right to treat you the way we did. It was completely inappropriate and it won't happen again."

"Oh wow, thanks Ms. Gilbert," she breathes a sigh of relief, probably unburdened from the fear that I was coming up here to fire her.

"You're very welcome, thank you for being patient this morning. None of that craziness was directed at you, I hope you know that."

"I do now," she grins and pops open the box. These are the best cupcakes in the city and I really wish I would have gotten myself one. "Want one?"

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all, these are the best."

"Right?" I already know which one I want, I was practically drooling on myself when the lady behind the counter was tucking that sweet little red velvet one in the box. I lean against the desk and peel off the wrapper. Who said we don't enjoy sweets in the fashion world? "So how's it going otherwise?"

"It's alright," she shrugs and takes a bite. It's nice to have a semi-normal conversation with her. I feel like I only talk to her when I have a problem for her to fix, her job must kind of suck. "How are things going with Mr. Salvatore?"

"They're… complicated, Amber. Have you ever been super into someone and you're not quite sure if they feel the same way? It's like that. We went out and had a great time, like really awesome date but then it just got weird. And it's not like I can just ask because that would make things worse. And seriously, I mean, you've seen him. How does someone like _me_ land a guy like _that_? He's pretty much the definition of out of my league."

"I just meant how things were going with the case against All Starr Designs," Amber says quietly and shifts in her seat.

"Of course you did," I nod awkwardly. Way to go, Elena, unload all of your personal drama on the teenager whose job it is to talk to other people. I'm sure your secrets won't be going anywhere after this. "Maybe we can just forget everything I said?"

"Sure," she giggles and blushes. "For what it's worth, I think you're exactly in his league."

"Hey, thanks. That means a lot." I excuse myself before I have to stick my foot in my mouth again. I really need to hide in my office and detox on caffeine before I blab inappropriately personal details to the rest of the office.

I happen to pass the conference room and see Damon on his cell phone pacing the entire length of the room. His tie is pulled a little loose and he's running his hands through his hair. He does that when he's anxious, I know this because I'm creepy and I definitely watch him _a lot_. He catches me watching him and I give him a small wave and he smiles tiredly at me.

"Everything okay?" I mouth from the other side of the glass wall. He shrugs and nods his head. I figure it's probably best to leave him be so I finish my rounds around the office. We're getting really close to the big show and it's helpful for me to know where everyone is at on their respective projects and to know if there's anything that needs a little more attention, et cetera. Plus, it gets me out of my office for a couple of hours.

After touching base with the lead design team Damon pulls me aside into the mailroom, looking even more frustrated than he did in his office. His tie is completely gone now and I can tell he's flustered. It's such a foreign look on his that it rattles me a bit.

"Hey, I'm sorry to ask, but do you mind if I stepped out for a couple of hours?"

"Yeah, of course, it's no problem at all. Is everything ok?"

"Yeah," he answers quickly and then it's like he realizes that it's _me_ he's talking to and he doesn't have to be bulletproof is he doesn't want to. "No, that was Hannah's daycare. She's refusing to eat again. This happens all the fucking time. It's not her fault, I know that, but she hates daycare because there's a group of girls there who pick on her so on the days she has to go she hunger strikes. Then she gets home and she's pissed at me because I made her go so she won't eat for me either. Literally, she won't touch anything. It only ends when Stefan or my Mom comes over and makes something. Stef and Lexi are at a conference at Stanford and my parents are in London until Wednesday. I already know how this is going to end. She's going to make herself sick and when I explain what happened to the nurses at the hospital they're going to step right out and call Child Protective Service on the idiot dad that can't even feed his daughter."

"I'm sorry," I say and I know it falls flat.

"I'm really fucking this up," he admits and rubs his temples.

"Hey," I say strongly and grab his hands. "That is _not_ true, Damon. Plain and simple, not true."

"She's five, Elena. She's my baby girl and I can't even get her to do something as simple as eat when she's hungry."

"Well, look at who her daddy is. Do you really think Mr. Social Justice Warrior would have a daughter who _didn't_ know how to hunger strike to get her way? She's like a little suffragette."

"Because I'm such a great example to learn from," he scoffs sarcastically.

"You're teaching her how to believe in something, Damon. It may be daycare and mean girls today but someday she's going to know how to stand up for herself or for something bigger than herself. That's pretty powerful."

He just chuckles and shakes his head then gives me a look that I can't place. I've never seen it on him before, but it's making me a little squirmy.

"What?" I ask and I'm suddenly self conscious. Did I say something wrong? Maybe it wasn't my place to say anything at all. Did I just massively overstep some invisible boundary?

"I was ready to slit my wrists when I got off the phone and in about two minutes you made it ok. Do you want to come with me?"

"Are you sure? I mean, it sounds like she really wants her dad. She won't get upset that I'm there?"

"She really wants to punish her dad, Elena. Trust me, you being there might save me from an epic temper tantrum."

"I can't really say no, then can I?"

—

As we pull into the driveway of the Marigold Grove Waldorf School it looks more like a miniature university than it does a daycare. The front lawn is the biggest I've seen in the city outside of Central Park.

"This place is really sweet."

"For the tuition it better be," Damon grumbles but there's not really any bitterness in his voice. "Ready for fifteen minutes of disapproving glares and a really condescending conversation about how to reason with a tiny human?"

"Damon, please, I work with the biggest divas in a diva-studded industry. If I can handle Anna Wintour at her worst these school marms aren't going to be able to scare me."

"We'll re-approach that assessment when we're done."

"Mr. Salvatore," the receptionist greets him a clipped tone. "I'll let Mrs. Bouchard know that you're here." Real friendly.

"Great," Damon says with an eye roll and takes a seat in the waiting room. I sit next to him and give him a reassuring hand squeeze, which earns me a forced little smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Before I can open my mouth to tell him that it's all going to be okay a very stern woman appears in the waiting room.

"Mr. Salvatore, thank you for coming," she says curtly. For a place that advertising a _warm, safe learning environment for all children_ on their sign outside the faculty are pretty cold and a little scary. "Please join me in my office."

I was fully prepared to wait for him in the waiting room like the dubiously-unattached-friendish-coworker-with-whom-he's-gone-on-one-date that I am but he grabs my hand and tugs me along with him. Okay, I guess I'm going parent-teacher conference, too.

"Have a seat Mr. Salvatore and Mrs…"

"Ms. Gilbert. Elena is a good friend," Damon answers for me before I have a chance to make things awkward, or _more_ awkward. Is now a bad time to get a little crabby that he didn't call me his girlfriend? Too soon for that? Maybe.

"Right," she says disapprovingly. Bite me, lady. "Anyways, as you know, Hannah has refused to eat again. I'm very worried that by you allowing her to engage in this behavior in the home she is going to learn that it is a means to get what she wants. As I'm sure you know, this is unacceptable behavior for a child her age."

"What am I supposed to do? Go Kilaminham Gaol on her and stick a tube down her throat?" He's using his frustrated tone, this isn't going to be constructive at all.

"I think there may be a leadership issue at hand. Hannah is learning to be the leader of your home. Both Mrs. Cooper and I believe that you can discourage this by informing her that it's unacceptable and refusing to give in to her demands."

"Unacceptable, fine. That's all well and good but you understand why hunger striking has been so effective in the past, right? I can't _force_ her to eat. It's not like a picket line I can peel her off of, if she won't eat there's not a whole lot I can do about it."

"With all due respect, Mr. Salvatore, I believe that you're putting a little too much stock into Hannah's thought process. She's simply mimicking behaviors that she's seen without understanding the full gravity of her choices."

"And where would she have learned this from?" Damon snaps. Our conversation about his multiple arrests in college and unlawful protests pops into my mind; I don't think it's a mystery as to where Hannah picked up the fine art of civil disobedience. I am pretty impressed that she's already using it at her age. She's going to be one hell of a teenager.

"Probably from the same place she learned this from," Mrs. What's-Her-Face produces an exquisite drawing of a unicorn or a bear, I can't really tell which. "Hannah drew this at arts and crafts hour yesterday."

"Fuck," Damon groans and slouches in the uncomfortable chair next to me. I take a better look at the picture and I laugh uncontrollably when I read the words Hannah was trying to spell: _mash the paytreearky_. The headmistress gives me a glare that could freeze July in Georgia.

"I'm sorry," I say and try to control myself. "But you have to admit that a girl who already wants to take on the patriarchy at five years old is a force to be reckoned with."

"I can assure you that this is no laughing matter, Ms. Gilbert. Hannah's behavior is disruptive to her development."

Damon looks completely defeated and it's killing me. He's a damn outstanding father and watching him get torn down is like taking sandpaper to every nerve in my body. I am about to overstep in a major way, but better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?

"Whoa, Hannah's 'behavior' stems from getting picked on by girls under _your_ care, in _your_ facility so how about we examine that before we start throwing around words like 'disruptive.'" I am trying to be respectful and not go full CEO on her, but she's making Damon hurt and that flips some weird switch in my brain: Protect. Seek. Destroy. I can't even hide the fact that my hand is shaking a little.

"We understand the value in fostering individuality, Ms. Gilbert. But children still need a leader."

"Seems like Damon is a pretty great leader, most kids have to pick up those lessons from a kefiyah-wearing roommate in college. Hannah already has a strong personality and, correct me if I'm wrong, but assertiveness and a strong belief system are the two characteristics most well-correlated with success in the professional sphere later in life."

"I certainly don't disagree, but there are healthier ways to placate her than to give in to her refusing to eat."

"Like what? Placating her with sugary garbage? Look Ms. Bouchard, I'm not a parent but I know a thing or two about head-strong women and they're going to fight you one way or another. If Hannah wasn't refusing to eat she'd be refusing to do something else."

Ms. Bouchard looks at Damon expectantly and he just shrugs. She took all of the fight out of him and it makes me want to punch her in the face. Before I can get myself in any more trouble the phone on the desk rings and the stern woman who has just become my nemesis answers it.

"Hey," I say quietly and squeeze his shoulder. "Why don't we take her somewhere for lunch and see if she eats? If not she can go back to work and color in Caroline's office. I know where she keeps the Luna bars and smoothie mix." He nods and peels my hand off his shoulder, at first it seems like he might be mad that I'm touching him but he kisses my knuckles and whispers a heartfelt 'thank you.' He doesn't let go of my hand either, he shifts so that our fingers are tangled together and hanging between our respective chairs.

"I'm going to sign Hannah out for the rest of the day," Damon informs Ms. Bouchard when she hangs up. Some of his confidence is back and he's starting to look more like himself. "Thank you for your advice but I'll be looking for a different day school for my daughter. I feel like your staff isn't up to the challenge of mentoring Hannah."

"Mr. Salvatore, I can assure you that our faculty is very well-trained. Hannah is a pleasure to have in class and she is a valuable part of our community," Ms. Bouchard begins to back-pedal. I'm sure she just sees a large tuition check vaporizing. He nods decisively, like he's already made up his mind and the headmistress calls for the receptionist to get Hannah from her class.

—

"Hi Daddy," Hannah shuffles out with her tiny backpack and a handful of worksheets, looking entirely pleased with herself. I almost laugh because she's already got her dad's smirk and mischief dancing in her big blue eyes. Her curly hair is tamed into two French braided pigtails and she's wearing a yellow jumper with green frogs on it. Damon mentioned that his parents and his brother and sister-in-law are out of town so he must have braided her hair and helped her pick out clothes this morning. It's so sweet and it makes me heart beat harder in my chest. Then I remember that the first thing he heard when he came in to work this morning was Caroline talking about me using him to get laid and it makes me feel like instant garbage. He's so, so, _so_ good. I don't deserve someone this good in my life, not when there's a possibility that I may ever make him feel like I'm using him. "Hi Lena."

"Hi Hannah," I smile, I can't believe that she remembered me. I've only seen her once and for about a minute before she fell asleep and she greeted me like it was the most normal thing in the world. I wonder if she asked Damon anything about me and what his answer was.

She marches over to Damon and holds her backpack up, as soon as he takes it and throws it over his shoulder she holds both arms up expectantly. As soon as he picks her up she wraps her little arms around his neck and her eyes start to water.

"Hannie, Mrs. Bouchard told me that you didn't eat your snack or your lunch."

"I didn't want to eat the animals," she sniffles and wipes her nose on Damon's shoulder, which makes me cringe a little. It's a Gieves & Hawkes jacket, who cares if it just became a seven hundred and fifty dollar hankie?

"What animals?" he asks softly and rubs her back.

"Felice said that chicken nuggets are made out of birds and I like birds. Me and uncle Stefan fed the birds at the zoo, I can't eat them! She said I was a bird killer if I ate nuggets."

"Now she's a vegan," Damon shakes his head. From what little I know about him and his past I think the apple didn't fall far from the tree. "Sweetie, you don't have to eat the animals, but you do have to eat something, ok?"

"How come I can't go to the big window house wif you?" I assume she's talking about work. If Damon showed up with this little girl the office would be more in love with him than they already are. God, Rebekah! She'd be _even_ flintier.

"I have to work during the day, Sweetheart."

"I miss you though, Daddy." I feel guilty because we have been pulling really long hours at work getting ready for court.

"How about we go get lunch and see how you feel after that, ok?"

"Kay, can we go to a place with crayons," Hannah asks and growls when Damon tries to help her buckle her carseat harness. "I can _do_ it, Daddy."

"Okay," he sighs and watches her carefully. He gives the belt a tug before he's satisfied and it's so freaking adorable.

"Daddy, can you turn on TED?"

"Are you sure you don't want to listen to some music?"

"TED!" Hannah demands and kicks her carseat.

"Ok, ok," Damon sighed and switched on NPR. Maybe I'm starting to see a little bit about the whole 'establishing leadership' issue. He's physically incapable of saying no to his little girl; she's incredibly smart and she already knows that he's wrapped around her little finger. "Better than that damned One Direction again."

"That's a dollar Daddy! Lena you gotta make sure Daddy puts a dollar in my swear jar when we get home."

"What's a swear jar?" I smile. Maybe I should institute an inappropriate comment jar at work. I couldn't though since I don't think they make jars that big.

"Every time Daddy says a bad word he has to put a dollar in the swear jar and when the swear jar is all fulled up we get pies with ice cream. I always like chocolate pie but sometimes cherry is good, too. One time I got both 'cos Daddy said so many bad words at Indy but then Daddy had to finish them because I was going to explode from pie and all my ice cream melted."

"Who is Indy?" Please let it be a pet Persian cat or a small, fluffy hamster.

"My doggie," Hannah giggles and Damon rolls his eyes. So he has a dog, too. It shouldn't surprise me, but it does. I might die if he's a chihuahua. "He's a good doggie but sometimes he number ones on the floor and chews Daddy's grown up shoes. One time he ate Daddy's homework and he got real mad."

"It was the deposition I was supposed to deliver for a seventy million dollar lawsuit the next day," Damon says loud enough for me to hear him but not Hannah. "That fucking dog was born of Satan."

"Do you like pie, Lena?" Hannah asks sweetly.

"I do, my mom makes the best lemon meringue pie."

"My mommy is a cunt."

"Hannah Carson Salvatore!" Damon cuts in sternly. I have to look out the window and bite my lip because I'm cracking up inappropriately. This little girl is a force of nature. Damon really does have his work cut out for him.

"What?" Hannah asks half-annoyed and half way in the sweet little squeaky voice I'm sure she knows melts Damon.

"Where did you learn that word?"

"Uncle Stefan."

"Damnit Stefan," Damon growled and pulled his iPhone out.

"Another dollar! 'Member Lena now that's _two_ dollars for the swear jar." I have to rest my chin in my hand to inconspicuously cover my mouth. This is beyond entertaining and I'm worried that laughing is only going to encourage her to keep pushing Damon's buttons.

"You can't use that word, Little One. It's not very nice," he explains calmly.

"Do I have to put a dollar in the jar too then?"

"Not this time, but if you say it again you will."

"But I am saving all my dollars to buy Indy an aggilator stuffie for Christmas."

"Well just make sure you don't say that word _ever_ again and you can buy Indy his alligator."

"Ok. Can we get pies?" Hannah asked with a sweet smile that highlighted her dimples perfectly. It's official, she's a professional. She's probably the only person on the planet who can bend Damon to her will like that, I'm highly impressed.

"If you eat all of your lunch we can get pie."

"Thank you, Daddy," she smiles knowingly. Total professional.

 **xoxo**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of your reviews. They mean the world to me :) This is a big a chapter and some things I know a lot of you have been thinking about are answered...**

Lunch turned into a rest-of-the-day-affair. After watching Damon for two agonizing hours fighting a tiny human with a formidable temper I finally stepped in and told Hannah that if she didn't eat her lunch she'd never get pie again. Cue big, sad, blue eyes and a quick disappearance of every crumb on her plate. Damon just looked exhausted and it really got to me, someone had to put their foot down. Lunch was followed by pie and a visit to the aviary at the Central Park Zoo. I am now thoroughly exhausted and wanting to soak in a hot shower and lie between my blankets and sleep for a century. That was until Damon invited me back to his place. My curiosity got the best of me and now I'm just a bundle of nerves wanting to see what his apartment is like.

"Make yourself comfortable, I'm just going to go put her to bed," Damon said softly as he unlocked the door. No sooner than the key tumbled the lock into place did I hear happy toenails clicking on the floor on the other side of the door, Satan Dog, I assume.

"Indy, down boy," Damon whispered loudly, trying not to wake a finally-sleeping Hannah in his arms. I don't see what the problem with the dog is because he took one look at his little person and piped right down. Hannah even has the dog under her command, it's adorable. Damon carried Hannah down a dark hall, followed closely by their watchful Lab. I looked around his house and my heart swelled with the sweetness of his chic, minimalist bachelor pad furnishings dotted with dolls and picture books. His sleek, stainless steel refrigerator was covered in Hannah's artwork and alphabet magnets. Most of the pictures were finger paintings of animals and rainbows but one caught my eye. It was a black-haired stick man and a black-haired stick girl holding hands on a sailboat with big stick smiles and "hapy mothers day, I love yu daddy" scrawled across the top in pink and purple glitter paint. Just thinking about Hannah at school making that while all of the other kids were making cards for their moms makes my heart ache. I know Damon keeps saying that they're ok and I believe him, mostly. He's such an incredible father and that little girl looks at him like he's her hero, then there's his family that seems nothing but supportive, but it still must be hard on both of them. Just being allowed into his world for the day has worn me out, I can't fathom having to do all of that alone. His little girl is a handful; she's adorable, don't get me wrong, but a handful.

"I think we might have finally found something that wears her out," Damon sighed and dropped on the couch next to me, handing me a chilled bottle of Sam Adams. "I have no idea where she gets her energy from."

"I think we all grow out of it unfortunately. Except Caroline, obviously," I smiled and looked over at him. When he shows up to the office, he's a force to be reckoned with: tailored suit, Italian leather shoes, not a hair out of place. He looks like one of those guys in the vodka ads I always see on the subway, perfectly put together. But Damon-at-home is much different. He changed out of the crisp suit into worn Levi's a thermal henley. His usually-coiffed hair is mussed up, I'm sure from dragging frustrated fingers through it all afternoon. And now that he's relaxed and letting his guard down he has that smile that I'm learning may just be for me. He's gorgeous like this. And not in the "get between my sheets" gorgeous but like the "let's move in together and pick out China patterns" gorgeous. It's a scary thought so I just ignore it.

"Thanks for coming today. It's a big deal for Hannah to finally spend time with a woman other than Lexi and my mom."

"Thank you for inviting me. I'm sorry if I overstepped at the school or anything."

"Not at all, it was nice to have someone in my corner for once," he chuckles and I know he meant it to be light-hearted but it stings to hear him say it. It breaks my heart to know that he has to face everything alone. "Has anyone told you that you can be a little scary when you want to be?"

"It's my secret weapon, wait until you witness a board meeting at _Vereine_ ," I laughed and melted into the sofa cushions. Whatever his couch is made of is heavenly and I could probably fall asleep right now if I wanted to.

"Very sexy," Damon chuckled and took a pull from the bottle in his right hand while his left not so subtly stretched out behind me.

"You didn't think so the first time you met me."

"Are you kidding me?" he laughs again and lets his fingers drape down over my shoulder. "I thought you were ridiculously sexy, especially after you called me a 'cad' and sent me home with a reading assignment." I laugh and shake my head because it's not even that long ago that we met in our disastrous introduction. Generally I am a one-and-done person, if someone doesn't live up to my exception on the first meeting I don't give second chances. I am so glad that Damon and I got a second chance. I wonder how many other special people could be in my life right now if I had just allowed a little more flexibility and a few more second chances.

"So what happened to Hannah's mother? If you don't mind me asking and you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Hannah's incubator, she never earned the right to call herself a mother. She's not in the picture. Never was, never will be if I have any say in the matter. I met her at a pub one night when I was at Oxford, drank too much, was stoned out of my mind, forgot the condom, and she tracked me down three months later here in New York to tell me that she needed money for an abortion. I begged her not to go through with it and told her that if she just carried Hannah to term I'd take care of anything she needed. Long, messy story short, she agreed and here we are."

"So she agreed to not be involved in her daughter's life at all?"

"Agreed? Shit, Charlotte leapt at the chance to skip out as soon as she could, she was back in London before Hannah was released from the hospital and probably high off her ass shortly thereafter. But it's fine with me. I fell in love with Hannie the first time I saw her on the sonogram and I knew I was born to be her dad. We're ok, you know. It's not ideal and sometimes it sucks, she's a handful as I'm sure you now know. I'm going to lose my mind when she's a teenager but I have my parents and Stef and Lexi so it's not too bad."

"Wow," I mumble and the air feels heavy. "Well for what it's worth, I think you're a pretty awesome dad."

"That's worth more than you know."

In one swift shift of my weight my feet are tucked under me and I'm curled up under Damon's arm. He must like it because he pulls me even closer and it's so good. He rests his cheek against the crown of my head as his fingers play with the ends of my hair. There's something about it that's so sensual and domestic that it's a crazy turn on. Part of me wants to ruin the moment and strip down but I don't. I don't even want to move because more than being turned on, I'm comfortable. I actually feel precious and more wanted than I have ever felt, even in bed with someone else. Something awesome is happening inside my chest that's realigning parts of me into a new, warm alignment because someone like Damon is content to just sit in silence with me and play with my hair, without an eminent possibility of something more… physical. It's a good thing I'm sitting down because the feeling I am being hit with is making me dizzy in the best kind of way. I don't want to put a name on this feeling yet, but I think I know what it is. We just sit there in silence letting the crackling heat of the fireplace soak into the little bubble we've created and warm every cell in my body.

"I should call a cab," I whisper about an hour later when I feel my eyelids starting to get heavy. I don't want to leave but I have a lot of work to catch up on from home tomorrow since I missed most of it today.

"Nope, not allowed," Damon mumbles sleepily and tightens his arm around me, nuzzling my hair. He sounds like he'd dozed off.

"I guess I'm walking then," I answer even though I'm not actually serious about walking twenty blocks alone in the middle of the night.

"Definitely not allowed, you'd get mugged," he stretches out and I instantly miss his arm around my shoulder. I feel cold and regret opening my big, dumb mouth in the first place.

"Cab it is then," I grin, knowing that I've won.

"You could just stay," he offers and cracks his knuckles, he's too exhausted to be nervous even though this is a big moment. He's inviting me to stay _with_ him. I mean, I'm sure I'd sleep on the couch but still, it's something new.

"Jaws is already way overdue for dinner," I chuckle because blaming my goldfish seems much more of the cool-girl move than letting my hair down and begging him to take me to his bed and hold me and play with my hair more. It was already out of my mouth before I realized how dumb it sounds.

"Well we wouldn't want Jaws to starve," he smiles, but it's tight and guarded. I daresay he seems a little disappointed at my refusal. Don't get me wrong, I want to stay _bad,_ but I know exactly where it would lead and I'm not ready yet. Weird, I know, especially considering that I wanted to start a no-strings-attached sex relationship with him just last week. There are strings now, big strings that are attached to some very important parts of me. The slow burn we're scorching right now is perfect and I can't afford to make everything between us anything less than perfect at this point. He deserves it.

His hand is warm on the small of my back as he walks me to the door. Before I know what's happening I am being tugged back against Damon and sandwiched between his body and the front door. His lips are on mine, and wow. I've been kissed before, of course, and I'd been kissed pretty well on more than one occasion, but this… wow.

Life as I know it ended.

This is _it_.

I can't even begin to count the colors that bloom in my veins at the moment we connect. I don't even know a word for the feeling of his hand tangled in my hair as he pulls me closer. Fizzy? Ablaze? Turned on? Yes, yes, and hell yes. Forget fluttering, the butterflies in my stomach are throwing one hell of a dance party, stomping it out like Fred Astaire to the beat of my thudding heart. I wonder if it's possible to break a rib from the inside? If so, I am in deep trouble because at the moment those trusty bones are the only things keeping my heart in my chest. I can feel everything and nothing but him all at once. This isn't even a kiss, this is some sort of insane out-of-body experience. The hard lines of his muscles wrap around me and he tilts my head to kiss me more deeply.

So. Much. Wow.

He groans softly when I lace my fingers through his thick, silky hair to pull him closer and his hands find my hips. His touch is gloriously rough and possessive and I want to be his more than anything in the world, except maybe to make him mine. There's fire and fragility in the way his fingers brush against my skin where he's managed to inch my blouse up. The contradiction between how I imagined him to be and the raw sweetness of his reality sends a thrill across my skin and I shiver against his lips. He must know because he flattens his hand against the bare skin of my back and presses me harder into the polished wood behind me.

I want, or need, more. I want him and all that he is in this moment. I want him to spread me out beneath him and find a new meaning of home inside me. If the growing hardness that he's pressing against the jut of my hip is any indication, he wants the same thing. Forget going slow, I need him now. I bend my knee just slightly to brush against the outside of his and trail my hand towards the button on his jeans. I'm not even thinking about us being walked in on my his little lady or too much too soon, I have to touch him. His hand leaves my hair and his thumb brushes over the outside of my breast and it's nearly enough to do me in. My knees buckle and he grabs my wrist.

"Wait, Elena, wait a sec. Brief pause." Damon is saying words and I try to focus my bleary eyes through the honeyed haze that is being kissed by this man. As soon as I can see something other than white-hot passion, I take in how truly beautiful Damon is like this. He's flushed and panting just like I probably am, and so disarmingly vulnerable. I want to fight the whole world for him just to keep that look in his eyes, the one that I've only just seen since he's shed the layers and layers of armor he wears every day. He's just so… so beautiful.

I meet his gaze with reluctance and see something big and scary swimming around in the cerulean depths of his eyes. Oh god, he's rejecting me; that big scary thing? Regret. He regrets kissing me and feels guilty about telling me. Here I am, floating on cloud nine and he looks like he's about to tell me that my dog died. I've made a total wanton idiot out of myself and he's probably thinking I'm easy and after him for only one thing. I am so ashamed that I pushed our fragile, precious line too far in the wrong direction. My euphoria is quickly replaced with embarrassment and self-loathing. This is the best thing I've had going in… well, ever, and I just wrecked it.

"Right," I nod dejectedly and give him a little shove to free myself from that gilded cage of his arms. Even with his rejection his arms are still gentle and feel too good. I have about three seconds to throw on my greaves and breastplate before he slays me with what I know is coming. "I'll save you the regret speech and just be on my way, then."

"It's not that, I want you. God, I want you so fucking badly, Elena. From the moment I first saw you I've wanted you," he stutters and grabs my hand tightly to stop my panicked retreat. His eyes stubbornly refuse to meet mine as he focuses, instead, on my hand clenched in his. "It's just that… it's been… a _while_."

"What?" I gawp in disbelief, and yeah, I probably look more than a little stupid. Damon always acts like such a rake around the office, I figured he was the new-girl-every-night type of guy. Let's level here, he _could_ be that guy quite easily. He's the whole package: brains, charm, wit, incredible sense of humor, looks. The fact that he isn't that guy only adds to his list of reasons why he could be that guy!

"Not since Hannah was born," he mutters as he averts his eyes to the floor. Grapes of wrath! Damon hasn't been with anyone since his daughter was born… five years ago, talk about a dry spell. I haven't been intimate with anyone but my vibrator in six months and I'm ready to rip Damon's clothes to shreds. "I just haven't—"

"It's fine, Damon," I say softly because I can't even imagine awkward he must be feeling trying to explain his situation to me. And it is fine, it's better than fine. He put his daughter and being a good dad first and that's something that makes me stand a little taller just to be wanted by someone like that. I can't even stop myself from kissing him again, just softly and slowly, because he needs to know that I get it and that it is better than fine. I want all of him and I want him to be comfortable with whatever direction we find ourselves going and if it means waiting, that's so fine. That inexplicable warm feeling starts flooding through my veins again just knowing that he wants me, that I'm the one he's taking this step with. I know what he said in my office about wishing I could see what he sees in me and I haven't agreed until now. I want to know what someone like him could see in me that's worth sharing something this big with.

This time his hands are soft and slow. I kiss him in a way that I can only hope makes him feel half as special and wanted as he makes me feel. I didn't want to put a name on it before but I'm going to just come out and say it now: I'm falling in love with Damon Salvatore. I'm falling fast and hard and wonderful

"Stay?" he asks against my lips and I just nod and kiss him again.

 **xoxo**


	14. Chapter 14

"He… hello," I mutter when I finally find my phone. My nightstand seems like it's shrunk overnight. Weird.

"Buzz me up, El. I'm freezing down here." I can hear Caroline's teeth chattering.

"Where are you?" These sheets feel weird, too. Not bad, just different than usual. The light is coming in through the windows in a way that it usually doesn't. I have black out curtains for a reason. Unless…

"At your place. Is your buzzer broken? I've been ringing for like three eras of man."

"I'm… I'm not at my place," I look around and it hits me… holy fountain of hand-dyed batik, _I am not at my place_. That is not my wainscoting and these are not my dark blue sheets. This isn't even my soft gray T-shirt. What the H? "Oh jeez, crap crap crap, Caroline, I'm not at my place."

"You're not in jail or someth… oh my god, you're at Damon's!"

" _How_ did you know that?" I hiss. Yeah, I'm at Damon's. Specifically, I'm in Damon's bed when I should be in my own. Now that my brain cells are waking up I distinctly remember a real hot and heavy, high school-style make out session in front of the fireplace before migrating to Damon's bedroom and kissing until we fell asleep. No sex, I promise.

"I didn't until now." She's so smug and proud of herself. I'm replacing her coffee creamer with salt the first chance I get. "Now the jig is up."

"I slept with him, oh crap, Care, I _slept_ with him." I'm really trying to keep calm. I know it seems stupid, but this was a _huge_ step and I didn't even plan on taking it. This all started as offering moral support for him at Hannah's parent-teacher thing yesterday and now I'm waking up in his bed, in his clothes, with terribly chapped lips. This is exactly how people lose themselves and I cannot afford to lose myself in anything other than Fashion Week and our new line right now. Damn him and his stupidly gorgeous personality.

"Ooookay… orgasms are usually better for your nerves than this so what went wrong?"

"No, not sex, I actually literally slept with him."

"Like snuggled?"

"Yes _snuggled_ , Caroline! It's not like I made a bed on the couch with the dog!"

"Aww, he has a dog?!" _Yes, Caroline, he's practically perfect in every conceivable way. Mr. Mary freaking Poppins._ "Well are you staying for breakfast?"

"Should I? Does snuggling rate breakfast?" I have to ask because I really don't know. I'm not a snuggler. I'm not a sleep over kind of gal. I wish my phone hadn't woken me up, I'm freaking out.

"Did you like the snuggles?"

"Yes, I mean as far as snuggles go it was pretty fantastic." That is not a lie. Damon's hands feel amazing on me and he kisses like… I don't even have words. I'm not even disappointed we didn't get 'farther' because every we did do felt so incredibly good. His lips are softer than I thought they'd be.

"Why are we even having this conversation then? Of course you should stay for breakfast unless he kicks you out."

"He's going to kick me out? Why would he kick me out?"

"El, seriously, but the neuroses back in the drawer no one is kicking you out. He's not, like, in the room right now is he?"

"He's asleep… I think." I hope. His eyes are closed and he hasn't reacted so… I really hope.

"Yeah, I'm hanging up now. Bye, love you!" Caroline wisely disconnects, at least one of us can function in the morning. I carefully set my phone back on the nightstand and try not to make any noise. I realize how silly that is because my phone just rang about ninety times and I had a very vocal melt down but a girl can still hope. I carefully situate myself back between the sheets and close my eyes. Damon still hasn't moved, so maybe he's a heavy sleeper.

"Not sleeping," he says very clearly. Clearly enough to have been awake for quite some time. When he finally does open his eyes he looks smug as hell, he's getting salty coffee too.

"For how long?"

"Since your phone rang," he smirks and stretches his arms above his head. What happened to his shirt? I mean, not that I mind that much, or at all. "For the record, I'm not kicking you out."

I just grumble a few choice words in response and pull the blanket over my head. I wish this was an invisibility cloak and I could just sneak off to Fiji, change my name, and start a new life. I may never live down this abject humiliation. He has every right to laugh at me. I made an idiot out of myself, and if he was made about Caroline running her mouth at work about him I'm sure he's incensed about the conversation he just heard. To my surprise his arms wrap around me and pull me close to his warm chest.

"I just need a minute," I grumble from under the sheet, because I'm really twelve and incapable of confronting my feelings head on. That doesn't stop me from melting into his embrace though. I can feel his fingers inching under the hem of my, well… his T-shirt.

"Take all the time you need," he chuckles and kisses the top of my head.

"How are you so cool about this?" I huff and throw the sheets off. I prop myself up on my elbows and force myself to look at him directly, like an adult.

"Cool about what?"

"Me being a nutcase."

"You're not a nutcase, Elena," he smiles genuinely and tucks a loose hair behind my ear, damn it if that doesn't make me a little hot. This simple gesture thing is going to kill me. "You're gorgeous."

"Stop that," I blush like a damn school girl but that doesn't stop me from snuggling back into him.

"Stop what?"

"Being so sweet, you're _supposed_ to be a cocky jerk. Remember?"

"I can honestly say I've never had a woman _ask_ me to be a jerk before."

"Well I've never slept over with a guy before. I mean like this, like literally sleeping. I usually go home. Well not usually, it's not like a usual thing. More like an occasional thing, except for sleeping over. This is all new."

"Elena, do me a favor? Don't talk about your other boyfriends when you're wearing my clothes."

"Ok," I smile sheepishly and blush again, if he only knew that none of them ever deserved to be called a 'boyfriend.' They've just been guys who have filled my time. I guess you'd call them 'boyfriends' but none of them have every made my heart flutter or made me think about what a future built around us might look like. It's terrifying that Damon has already checked off both of those boxes and then some in the matter of the few weeks he's been in my weird life. He climbs over me and I hope he'll kiss the hell out of me, if only just to loosens the knots my head is tying around itself right now.

He delivers. Good lord, he delivers.

He kisses a hot trail down my neck that dissolves me into a haze of want and need all over again. He finds the spot right under my jaw that makes me skin erupt with chills. I'm barely holding it together when he nips at my shell of my ear and moves his hand down my thigh to hitch my knee around his waist. He swallows the moan he draws from my lips when he grinds his hips against mine. Unfair.

His skin is smoother than I thought it would be but the muscles, wow. He has little soft spots here and there, like right below his belly button, which I kind of love more than the toned hard muscles of his abs. It's something that's so real and imperfectly flawless. I can't even say that they're flaws because they just make him even more _Damon_ , just like the scar on his left side. I can't resist running my fingers over it and he must be ticklish there because he shivers and chuckles lightly against my lips.

"What happened here?"

"Dirt bike accident, sixteen," he smiles and braces himself on his elbows to allow my fingers to continue their exploration. Our noses are still touching and it's so intimate that I should be uncomfortable but I'm quite the opposite, actually. I feel whole. I could get used to this.

"And this?" I smile and run my fingers over the bold black .MMXI inked onto his chest over his racing heart. I've never really been a tattoo fan but there's something about his little hidden ink that is a major turn on. Maybe it's the stark simplicity of the letters against his smooth skin and taut muscles or that it will be our own little secret next time we see each other. All my girls at work may flirt incessantly with him (while he does nothing to discourage it) but I'm the only one who will know about _this_. That silly coffee cart girl and the blonde courier who unbuttons the top button of her blouse before she hands him the signature clipboard can keep their girlish giggles and coy smiles because this is all mine, they'll never know him like this. Their fingers will never trace these lines like mine are.

"Hannah's birthday." The way he answers does something to me. It softens some jagged edge deep inside me that I didn't know existed. He doesn't even know that he's fixing me right now, I didn't even know I was broken until now. It's pretty incredible, connecting with someone like this.

"And this?" I can't see the scar on the back of his right shoulder but I can feel the jagged raised edges. He peppers kisses all over my face except for my lips. It's playful and cute and it's making me feel precious.

"Shark bite, Costa Rica."

"Seriously?" I shove at his shoulder because he can't be serious. I think back to how much I wanted to pepper spray him the day he was flirting with Rebekah over sharks at work. It feels like eons have passed since then. I could barely stand the sight of him when we first met but he's just continued to surprise me since then.

"Seriously," he replies and pulls my hand away from his shoulder, kissing all five fingers before wrapping my arm back around his neck.

"Let me guess, mother great white shark whose adorable, defenseless shark babies you were trying to save from a crack dealing hammerhead?"

"Close, juvenile male Caribbean reef shark stuck in a gill net."

"I thought you were lying about that to woo Rebekah."

"I don't lie, Elena. Who's Rebekah?"

"My assistant. Cute, perky, blonde, stares at you like you're Adonis reborn. Usually wears those ridiculously gorgeous cognac Prada boots that sold out in my size three seconds after they were released."

"Honestly, the only pair of shoes I've ever noticed at that office are those black ones with the red bottoms you've been torturing me with."

"My Louboutins?"

"I guess."

"Aw, I love those shoes." I do, they're comfortable for high heels and they make me stand up straight. Like Coco said: _keep your heels and your standards high_.

"You have no idea what I want to do to you when you flash those sexy little red soles."

"You really like them?" I'm surprised he noticed them, to be honest.

"Oh Elena, I more than like them," his eyes darken and I swear he growls at me. The look on his face has me rubbing my thighs together to release a little tension. He shouldn't be able to look at me like that, it's delicious and dangerous. This isn't sweet, playful Damon; that look is passion and dominance and earth-shattering sex. His eyes say that he'd utterly consume me if I gave in. I let myself think that he'd want me to be his. "Those shoes are making me a fetishist. When you wear those I want to lock you in my office and undress you with my teeth so I can fuck you until my name is the only thing you remember."

"Well, I have an excellent memory, Mr. Salvatore," I smirk and push him off of me. With grace that I didn't even know I possessed I straddle his hips and kiss him with everything I can muster. He wants more, I know he does by the way his fingers tunnel into my hair. Hell, I want more, but now isn't the right time. As corny as it sounds I want our first time to be special and not rushed in hushed silence, shoe-horned between Caroline's wake up call and breakfast. I want to have hours to enjoy him and worship him, he didn't wait this long to be used for some dirty talk and a quick orgasm. We're going to do this the right way.

"You're fucking incredible," Damon answers and looks over me appreciatively and strokes my thighs. I could see more mornings like this, easy. "Want to stay for breakfast?"

"Ok," I smile and kiss him one more time before sliding out of bed. It's nice to kiss him when I want to.

"Hannah doesn't like cereal?" I ask as Damon mixes up a batch of pancake batter he assembled from scratch. He makes a killer cup of coffee and I'm kind of a coffee snob.

"Nope, just pancakes," he shakes his head and pours the batter into a hot pan with expertise I've only seen on _Top Chef_. "And only pancakes with banana and strawberry faces and enough Nutella to dip it in."

"She's a finicky eater?"

"She had a really sensitive stomach when she was a baby and a lot of things made her colicky so she has some pretty strong food aversions."

"That must have been hard."

"That's an understatement. We tried just about brand and type of formula and nothing worked for longer than a few weeks. I wanted to throw a party the day she switched to baby food, but then she wouldn't eat that either."

"What did you do?"

"Cooking lessons and lots of late night phone calls to my mom. It turned out that she'd eat almost anything with bananas." I kind of hate it when he says things like that because I can picture Damon bouncing a baby Hannah on one shoulder with a phone tucked against the other shoulder, pacing his apartment in the middle of the night and it only makes me fall deeper into him. He shouldn't have had to do all of that alone.

"Katherine was like that with sweet potatoes."

"Sweet potatoes? The orange disgusting things?"

"Oh yeah, she loved them. My dad was worried she was going to turn orange because that's all she would eat."

"Sounds messy."

"It was," I smile because I remember getting mad at a very tiny Katie when she grabbed at the sleeves of my brand-new glittery unicorn sweatshirt with sweet potato-coated fingers. My mom promised that her little orange fingerprints would come out in the wash and they faded but never went away completely. "I guess not much has changed," I mutter because now we're just making different messes. I can't even stop the tears that spring to my eyes thinking about how we were and how we are. I wish I was still worrying about sweet potatoes sullying my unicorns.

"Hey," Damon says soothingly and pulls me into a hug. His hands wind underneath my hair and massage the base of my neck and it's the most calming thing I've ever experienced and I melt into his embrace. "It's all going to be fine, I promise."

"You don't know that," I sniffle. I hate myself for being a downer, we were having such an incredible morning.

"Actually I do. I'm the best, Elena. They're not going to win."

"You're cocky."

"You know that I've earned cocky."

"That thing you do with your hands is magic," I murmur and he pulls his hands away and I think I may have crossed the line until he tips my chin up to look at him.

"I've got moves you've never seen," he smirks and kisses me hotter than he should before I brush my teeth. Morning breath is the last thing I'm thinking of when his hands trail down my thigh and boost me up onto the counter. I part my knees just enough to accommodate his hips and when he makes his move I trap him by wrapping my legs around him. He groans in appreciation and smoothes his hands back up over my hips until they find their way under his t-shirt that I'm wearing.

"My clothes look good on you," he smiles bumping his nose against mine.

"Almost as good as they look off of you," I fire back when the kisses he's planting on my neck make me bold. He tugs the back of my knees towards him and the few extra inches brings us into intimate contact and he's just a ready to go as I am. He makes me brave and I venture a hand to palm the front of his sleeping pants with just enough pressure to answer his rough tugging at my knees.

"Fuck, Elena," he breathes between kisses. "You're going to get yourself in trouble."

"All kinds of trouble," I agree with a smile and inch my hand to his elastic waistband.

"Daddy!" Hannah's voice rings out from down the hall. I'm surprised she's up this early since it's only eight o'clock, but I'm sure the delicious pancake smells have something to do with it.

"What is it Little One?" Damon manages through a pained groan and rests his forehead against my shoulder.

"Indy number one'd on the floor and it's going everywhere!" Hannah exclaims and runs out into the hallway just long enough to wave her arms frantically.

"Sometimes I hate that fucking dog," Damon mutters and adjusts his sweatpants before swiping a roll of paper towels off of the granite countertop and Indy's leash from the hook by the door. I take advantage of a few private moments to grab my phone from my purse. I only have to type in the first few letters into the search bar before I'm directed to the Christian Louboutin site.

I've been going back and forth for the last few days about what to wear to our pre-show party for Fashion Week. It's fall in New York City so the practical side of me is saying: boots. However, in light of recent information I know exactly what I need. A shiny pair of New Very Prive peep-toe four-and-a-half inch stilettos. They're absolutely gorgeous works of art. Perfect, even. If sexiness and seduction could be distilled into a tangible product, this is it. A first glance they look black but if the light hits them just right the leather around the heel is deep, inky patent black that fades into deep carmine red closer to the toe. The best part:

Bright. Red. Sole.

 **xoxo**


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry for the slow update, I didn't have a proof reader for this chapter so please forgive any errors. Angst warning!**

I'm shocked that Damon agreed to come with me tonight. I had a strong suspicion that he'd eventually give in and come with me but really, a Fashion Week pre-party does not seem like his scene at all. I didn't want to scare him away by telling him that we'd have to socialize all night with people that I am sure will annoy him. I was a little light on the details: party, dinner, open bar. He just smirked and asked me what I'd be wearing.

This, of course, just isn't any old pre-party; this is the party that is being town by BMW and Rolex to honor _Chateau Verveine._ So yeah, Caroline and I are kind of the guests of honor. It's being hosted in the Grand Ballroom at the Plaza Hotel, which I've dreamed about dancing the night away in since I can remember. Having that dream come true with Damon as my date? Now that's what I call an upgrade.

"Damon knows to dress up, right?" Caroline asks from the make up chair next to me. Yes, we're getting our hair and make-up professionally done for tonight. We usually do each other's but tonight calls for that little something special. "And he knows that the car is picking him up after Nic, right?"

"Yes, Care, he knows all of that." I'm trying not to roll my eyes but in these last couple of days leading up to the big event Caroline has been incredibly on edge, which exacerbates her micro-managing tendencies in the extreme. I haven't even seen Nic in the office for two entire days, which is highly unusual. I've only been able to tolerate it because I have been distracting myself thinking about how delicious Damon is going to look in a tux. That man can fill out a three-piece suit like nobody's business and I'm curious to see what designer he'll go with or if he'll even go with a designer at all. I wanted to offer to dress him but it seemed to cross one of those weird lines that we apparently aren't talking about.

We decided to get ready at my place, mostly because Caroline and Nic live together and she really wanted some "girl time" before we left, read: she needed a good two hours to grill me about all the specifics I may have forgotten for the party. I actually did pretty well this time, I remembered all of the big stuff. I even got the hair stylist she's been after, thirty points to House Gilbert please.

Damon, as I suspected, looks scrumptiously incredible. He's in a black suit with a crisp white shirt that makes his hair perfectly-coiffed hair look even darker. His eyes are impossibly blue. They are one of my favorite things. It's certainly going to be difficult keeping my hands to myself tonight when all I want to do already is tempt him back upstairs to my apartment and… you know…

"You look beautiful," he smiles broadly and kisses me sweetly, not too long but full of promise for more later. His hands sit low on my hips and he tightens his fingers slightly when he sees the shoes of the century. "Where did you get those?"

"These old things? Dug them out of the back of my closet," I shrug. I had these babies delivered from Beverly Hills because they were the only store in the universe that still had my size. I had to have them and I wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"You are a cruel, cruel woman, Elena Gilbert," he practically growls in my ear and kisses my neck. I should be a little more embarrassed since we're not alone, but Caroline never pays attention to anything but Nic when Nic is around and tonight is no different. They're already snuggled up on the limo cooing about fluffy lambs and purple candy floss or whatever it is they get so googly about.

"Here I thought you'd like them," I playfully pout my lip at him, I hop it looks as cute as I think it does.

"There's a _lot_ of things I'd like to do to you right now."

"We're going to be late," I giggle against his lips and brush my hands over his shoulders. The fabric of his suit is so soft and smooth and he smells like spice and leather and I just want to fall into him. The things this man does to me aren't fair. Especially when he opens the car door so I can slide in and holds my hand during the drive. He probably knows I'm nervous, my hands are trembling slightly, which is probably why he kisses my knuckles every once in a while and smiles charmingly at me.

When we finally arrive here are photographers, _a lot_ of photographers. As soon as we step out of the limo the flashbulbs blind me and all I can hear is a cacophony of people calling my and Caroline's names. We manage to (hopefully) not look like deer in the headlights and get up the stairs leading into the Plaza Hotel. In the lobby there is a photo op set up with our logo and the iconic BMW badge in the background. This is so surreal.

Caroline and I pose for a few pictures together and a few more with our lead designers and some with the corporate executives from BMW who are responsible for what is already a pretty amazing party. Caroline is a natural at this. She's working her angles with a practiced grace that I haven't mastered yet; she looks like a movie star in every snap I'm sure. My heart rate speeds up to about seven-hundred-eighty when one of the photos asks for a photo of me and "my date." I know Damon didn't sign on for this. It's not like I kept it from him, I just didn't anticipate that there would be this much press here. I realize that this could be risky; if we're seen to be in a relationship that could be defined as anything other than professional it could damage Damon's credibility if our case against _All Starr_ goes to court. I know he cares a lot about his professional reputation and he's worried that I could damage my own reputation by being with him. It's all so complicated that I pretend not to hear the requests and instead pull Caroline back to my side. After far too long and too many flashes against my retinas the ushers shuffle us through the line of leaded-glass French doors leading to the party. I'm sorry, _our_ party.

I grab Damon's hand because I'm nervous as hell. I've been in the "big leagues" for a few years now and I've been to at least a dozen parties like this, but I've never been the center of attention like _this_ before. If I'm not grounded I think I'll float away. Damon drops my hand quickly but my worry dissipates when he winds his arm around my waist instead; definitely better.

"You good?" he whispers in my ear. He could probably feel how sweaty my palm is, I just hope the look of anxiety isn't apparent on my face.

"Yeah, I'm good," I smile at him and everything kind of clicks in place. I finally have someone to share these sorts of things with. He actually wants to be here because it's important to me. It couldn't have been easy on the fairly short notice I gave him: re-arranging anything he had going on at work for his other cases, finding a sitter for Hannah, getting a suit, et cetera but he still did it. He's _here_. I'm humbled and proud at the same time. I've never mattered to someone like that before, I mean besides my parents I guess. I've just never been someone's important somebody that was worth going through the trouble for.

"I'm so fucking proud of you, Elena," he says earnestly and kisses my cheek. That makes me feel about ten feet tall. If he's not careful I'm going to be as cocky and arrogant as him by midnight.

"Where do we even start?" Caroline asks staring at the ballroom with wide eyes. I shake my head and look around, I already seen twenty people I want to know.

"Um… you go left, I'll go right?" I suggest.

"Sounds good," she agrees but I can tell she's star-struck, too. Nic says something that makes her blush. She catches my attention just as she starting to walk away. "Hey Elena, we did this."

"Heck yes we did!"

"Ok," I sigh and take a deep breath, inching closer to Damon. "Should we get something to drink?"

"After you," Damon nods and follows me to the bar serving fancy cocktails. I can tell he's a little uncomfortable but he still laughs at something the guy next to him at the bar says. He has such an easy grace and he attracts people like a magnet. I can see why he's good at his job, he's so easy to admire. I spot Caroline across the room talking to an older gentleman and his very much younger date. She's so in her element right now, part of me thinks that she should have come alone. Hopefully all of the big players find her before they find me.

I make a special note of the way Nic is looking at her. She's the only one in this whole room as far as he's concerned. He stopped in my office last week to chat while Caroline was a phone call. Besides Nic, I'm the only one here who knows about that little robin's egg blue box tucked in the breast pocket of his coat. The ring inside is gorgeous, he nervously showed it to me hoping it would meet Caroline's standards. I told him he's being ridiculous, he could propose to her with a Ring Pop and she'd say yes but she's going to be flat out with the gorgeous cushion-cut full carat diamond surrounded by a halo of tiny opals. The opals through the light right into the diamond and I've never seen anything that sparkles quite like it, except maybe Care's face when she sees it. He's still not sure if tonight will be _the_ night but he wanted to have it on hand, just in case.

"Elena Gilbert," I hear a very familiar voice call from behind me: Lorenzo St. John. He was the first photographer we ever hired. He's a visionary, absolutely unbridled talent but he's lazy as hell. He threw himself into our projects with every fiber of his imagination until he didn't, then it was like pulling teeth to get him to finish. He drove Caroline insane but he and I have always gotten on well. He has a great sense of humor and the kind of laid back suave you would expect a beach boy from Palermo to have. And I'm assuming you're already thinking it and the answer is yes. We slept together once, about five years ago. We were working late, we were in Paris, that's really all there is to tell. We both knew the score and parted as friends. "Ciao, bella!"

"Enzo!" I smile and throw my arms around his neck. It's been at least two years since I've seen him. After our last project he dropped off the face of the Earth. I'd heard through the grapevine that he'd moved to Europe and was currently slothfully preparing projects for some really major brands. "What have you been up to?"

"Little of this, little of that. I've been working product photography at Louis Vuitton."

"Get out!"

"Oui, mademoiselle," he grins with a horrible French accent.

"Good on you, Enzo."

"So Demarchelier and Demarchelier, huh? What, you and Caroline outgrew little old me, huh?"

"Not ever," I laugh. "We just got lucky."

"Luck has nothing to do with it, bella. This is what you've been busting your sweet ass for since you got here. So do I get a sneak peek at the line at least? Give me something to take back to make the girls at Vuitton jealous."

"Oh please, like they'd be jealous of us."

"Check this out," he pulls out his phone and swipes through a few pictures before he hands it to me.

"Shut up!" I gasp, flabbergasted at the photo. It's Delphine Arnault wearing a gauzy, drop waist emerald sundress with ruffled cap sleeves and an handkerchief hemline. I know that the skirt gets it's volume from three yards of chiffon in four layers because that's _our_ dress. The executive vice president of Louis Vuitton is wearing a dress that I designed. Wow. Just, wow. "Is this real?"

"Real as real gets, Kiwi."

"Holy crap, that's really… can you send that to me?"

"Same number?"

"Yep."

I startle when I feel someone press against my back and wrap their arm around my waist. Damon kisses me on the cheek and pulls me a little closer to him.

"There you are, honey," he says a little louder than he would if it were just for me. I smile and lean into him. I'm a little surprised that he's this close to me in public but I'm walking on clouds and I'm just thrilled that I get to share tonight with him. I try to subtly lace my fingers with his at my side and lean back into him.

"Here I am," I agree. "Oh, Damon, this is Enzo St. John. Enzo was our first photographer, he's completely gifted. Enzo, this is my… yeah, this is Damon."

"Damon Salvatore," Damon nods and shakes Enzo's hand curtly, his charming smile is gone and even though he's not technically scowling, I know that he wants to. Enzo isn't a bad looking guy by any means and damon probably saw me hug him and then stand head to head losing my cool over the pictures on his phone. Enzo looks amused for some reason.

"Are you from San Francisco by chance?"

"I used to live out that way."

"Yeah, I remember you from that dye scandal thing. Big mess, that."

"You mean where multiple companies were dumping toxic sludge into waterways at their sub-humanitarian factories in China and poisoning thousands of people downstream? 'Mess' is a tragic understatement." Oh no, oh no no no! This is bad. This will one of two ways: Enzo will have mercy on me and drop this or he'll entertain himself by burrowing under Damon's skin in whatever way he can. I really hope for the former. Enzo can be a little of the volatile side, not in a violent way but he definitely enjoys stirring the pot and Damon is a walking half-stirred pot on a good day. There's no telling what he's going to do or say.

"So what brings you to Fashion Week, Damon Salvatore?"

"He's here with me," I smile and gaze at Damon, despite the situation I am still glad that he's here with me. I've never brought a date to anything like this before, I'm usually Caroline and Nic's third wheel or I bring my mom. I am proud as I'll get out to be here with the smartest, hottest guy in the room. Damon tightens his grip on me and doesn't say anything.

"Huh," Enzo smirks and looks between the two of us with a look I can't quite place. "Well, look at me taking up all of the star guest's time. It was good to see you sweetheart. I'm so damn proud of you, Kiwi."

"Thanks, Enz. Come by the studio and I'll show you to sneak peek."

"Wouldn't miss it. Salvatore, it's been… stimulating."

"Kiwi?" Damon scoffs as soon as Enzo walks away. "What's the pet name about?"

"I tried to dye my own fabric once. I was going for a deep green color like the grass is Ireland, turned out more like rancid kiwi fruit. Enzo and Dana thought it was hilarious so the name stuck."

"Was he one of the 'sleep but don't sleep over guys'?" Oh boy, here we go: male posturing, proverbial chest beating, and passive-aggressive remarks. Goody.

"Why?" It's not really any of Damon's business what meaningless thing happened between Enzo and I several years ago. He's not my boyfriend, at least I _think_ he's not, so it shouldn't matter. When he decides to maturely ask me about the men in my past I will be happy to give him full disclosure, but I'm not playing this territorial game and definitely not tonight.

"So, yes," he grumbles and takes too long of a drink from his bourbon. I roll my eyes because he really has no right to be acting like this.

"You're jealous." If I wasn't so annoyed by the alpha male mentality I would be flattered that he's jealous. I know he feels something for me, I assume it's probably something big, but I have no way of knowing whether we're on the same page or not. His possessiveness should make me happy but I don't appreciate the insinuation that he needs to step in because he doesn't trust me.

"Of that guy? Please," Damon scoffs and smirks at me. Well guess what buddy? Only one of you has seen me naked and it's not you.

"Yes, you are. You're jealous of Enzo."

"Why would I be jealous of a con artist making shallow country club wives believe that they _need_ another five-hundred dollar purse that was sewn together in some underground sweatshop in India?"

"Wow, Damon," I say, stunned. He's jealous that I have history with Enzo and I know that this is where this is coming from but still… ouch. If he thinks that of Enzo what does he think of me? I drop his hand and try to blink away the tears springing up in my eyes before it ruins the make up I was so excited about earlier today.

"Shit, Elena, I didn't mean it like _that,_ " he says quickly and runs his palms down my upper arms.

"Sure you didn't."

"I _am_ jealous, it's just hard to see that beautiful smile being given to someone you have a history with. I wasn't talking about you." He lifts my chin up so I'm looking right at him and I can tell he's sorry that he said it. But saying it is neither here nor there, it's the sentiment that was behind it. This isn't his world. This isn't what he gets out of bed for in the morning. Sure, the luxury goods industry and environmental movement are probably at odds with each other most of the time and I _do_ appreciate that there is a lot of waste in our business. Damon has never once asked me about _Chateau Verveine_ 's environmental initiatives, which are the first of their kind in the industry. We're the first to cut additional product labeling on our garments, we're the first to use recycled cotton fabrics, we're the first in North America to be carbon neutral. The little devil on my shoulder is saying that he's never asked because he thinks I'm too shallow to care and too dumb to understand the real impact of my business.

"I get that you think this is all stupid but you don't have to be such a jerk about it," I definitely deserve a good storm out scene and I make my way for the exit to the balcony. I need some air.

"Elena—" he says desparately and has the nerve to try to follow me.

"You're obviously not enjoying yourself, maybe you should go home," I cut him off. Things changed so quickly, one minute I am on top of the world and the next I'm falling apart. I guess it's better to know the truth.

"No, I—"

"Just go, please?"

"I want to be here with you, this is your night."

"It _is_ my night. Mine and Caroline's. Thank you for coming, but I really think you should go now." I don't even look back because I don't want to see the sad look I am sure has greyed his gorgeous blue eyes. I have this weird feeling that I don't want him to de upset. I don't want _him_ to be upset, despite the hurt he's caused me, it's the craziest feeling that I can't describe. When I make it to the balcony I let the cool fall air blow through the curls in my hair. I don't even shiver as the wind hits my skin.

I don't know how long I stand out there alone on the balcony until Caroline flits over with a mile-wide smile on her face. I wish I could be as happy as she is.

"Oh my gosh, isn't this incredible, El? Did you see Kiks talking to the chief buyer from Bergdorf Goodman's? Can you imagine our summer line in one of those windows on Fifth Avenue? I'd just die dead."

"Yeah, Care, that'd be really great."

"Uh, yeah it'd be really great, more like freaking amazingly awesome and life affirming. Wait, have you been crying? You've been crying! What happened? Where's Damon? I am going to punch him right in the testicles. What did he do?"

"It's not a big deal, Care. It wasn't his fault. I'm just a little overwhelmed."

"Yeah right, you don't get 'overwhelmed.'"

"He just wasn't having fun so he went home."

"Excuse me? Being witness to the biggest night of his girlfriend's life wasn't enough 'fun' for him?"

"I'm not his girlfriend."

"Well forget him for tonight, El. Look at this place," she pushes turns me around. The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel is packed with people I've admired and looked up to my entire life. High top tables dotting the room glow with tea lights nestled into vervain centerpieces. Tom Ford walks by with a gorgeous model on his arm sipping a lavender lemonade whiskey, the cocktail that the bartender crafted specifically to pay homage to the down-home Southern comfort of _Chateau Verveine_ 's fall line. The promo film we shot back home in Virginia for our runway show plays across the ceiling on repeat. "And it's all for us!"

"It's what we've always wanted."

"And so much more," Caroline chirps and hands me a glass of lavender lemonade whiskey. "Drink up, El. These are the halcyon days we'll live off of for years."

"Ever the poet, Care."

"I saw that on a cup at Chipotle and I've been waiting like eight months to use it. How about turning that frown upside down and let's go let these people celebrate us, huh?"

We spend the rest of the night dancing and drinking and laughing with the most insane guest list I could have ever have fathomed. I get so swept up that I only think about Damon going home alone or the fact that he's not here to cut in sweetly when I dance with Karl Lagerfeld. I miss him already.

Before I know it the clock strikes the proverbial midnight and the guests start to filter out. I shouldn't have stayed out this late since the biggest week of my life has technically just started. But the party was incredible, I think I might be in a dream. Nic opens a celebratory bottle of champagne on the ride home and I notice that Caroline isn't sporting a new piece of jewelry just yet.

"Elena!" Care yells and stands up from the sunroof of the limo when it drops me off in front of the San Remo. "I love you, babe!"

"I love you, too, Care!"

"We're queens, you and me!"

I laugh to myself and wave at her. Nic rolls down the window and waves goodnight, I'm sure their night is nowhere close to finished yet. I'm a little buzzed on cocktails and the bottle of champagne, but mostly I'm just so damn happy. Tonight was one of the best nights of my life, everything is falling into place and it felt so good to see our years of handwork finally amount to something beautiful.

The buzz dulls significantly when I see him sitting on the bench outside the lobby of my apartment building. Still in his suit, the tie loosened and his hair ruffled like he's been running his hands through it.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, trying not to slur too badly.

"I came to apologize. I was a complete asshole, Elena," Damon says running his hand through his hair again. He's so damn sexy with his hair like that that it's overwhelmingly difficult to stay mad at him. I just picture what he'd look like earning hair like that upstairs in my bed.

"That's a fact, not an apology."

"I'm so sorry, I was way, way out of line."

"I'm not mad about what you said, I'm disappointed and hurt that that's what you think about me. I get it, ok? You didn't want to work our case, you were assigned to it by the bosses that you hate. You think fashion is stupid and whatever, you're entitled to your opinion. Going forward I ask that you'll keep it to yourself until the case is finished and at least pretend that you don't hate our company." I keep walking toward the glass doors that will shut me away in my lobby, away from blue eyes and black hair and all the things that are capable of breaking me when nothing else can.

"I just don't understand it is all," he attempts again following me closely.

"Claspers," I drop my arms and turn to face him, if he wants to get into this right now he's going to hear exactly what I'm thinking.

"What?"

" _Claspers_. That's how you knew that your net shark in Costa Rica was a boy, the one that bit you. He had modified pelvic fins referred to as 'claspers.'"

"I'm not following you here, Elena."

"I didn't understand how you knew he was a boy or why you'd even care enough to get your shoulder chomped in the first place, so I read about it. I read how Caribbean reef sharks give births to live pups and how they're migratory and why it's tragic when they get caught in nets. I get why you'd risk the bite now. I get why you spent the night in jail over the shark finning bill in DC. I _get_ it."

"You really read about sharks?"

"Yeah and I watched about twelve hours of documentaries on Netflix."

"Why?"

"Because I respect you and your passion enough to put in the effort. It obviously means a lot to you and I wanted to find the magic in it, too."

"I'm really sorry I ruined your night."

"You didn't. I rubbed the red off my shoes dancing with every designer I've worshipped since I could actually read _Vogue_ and I got buzzed off of _custom_ cocktails with my best friend at the Plaza Hotel during Fashion Week. This is my dream, Damon. It may seem superfluous to you, but this is what I've dreamed about my entire life. I've been the girl who has wanted this for far longer than I've been the girl who is crazy about you. You smudged my mascara and hurt my feelings a little but you didn't ruin anything."

"Can I walk you to your door?"

"I know how to get there."

"How do I fix this, Elena?"

"What is there to fix, really? I'm not going to ask you to change your values and I'm not giving up what I've built."

"What are you saying?"

"I just need a glass of water and a good night's sleep." My hand hits the cold brass door handle when I feel the urge to unload the last weight off my chest. "You matter a lot to me, Damon. and what I feel for you, it's something new and big for me. I really _wanted_ you there tonight but I _needed_ your respect even more. That's not negotiable to me. Good night."

I don't even really know what I'm trying to tell him. I'm scared to death because I'm in love with him but I don't know if that's enough. I can't look back, I won't. I'll run back into his arms and the trepidation in my belly will float away, temporarily. It will all be temporary. I catch a glimpse of his reflection when I swing the rotary door to my lobby open. He looks devastated. He looks like how I feel.

I do the hardest thing I think I've ever done: I walk away from Damon Salvatore.

 **xoxo**


	16. Chapter 16

It's been two days since the party and about forty-six and a half hours since I've talked to Damon. He never called or texted, but I didn't either. I'm not going to lie, it's killing me. Saturday wasn't so bad because I was exhausted from Friday night; I slept for most of the day and spent the afternoon getting caught up on e-mails and voicemails before our big show on Wednesday. Saturday night, staring at an empty inbox and a stack of completed "While You Were Out" slips is when everything really caught up to me. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I spent three hours crying into a glass of red wine on my couch watching shark documentaries and pondering whether I should just swallow my pride and pick up the phone. I fell asleep halfway through _Blue Planet_ and woke up in the middle of the great penguin migration. It reminded me of Damon talking to Hannah about the penguins at the zoo and I hate it. Everything reminds me of him and I can't shake it.

Sunday I broke down and called Caroline. She was at my door in three seconds flat with a stack of magazines, Dove chocolates with the inspirational sayings on the inside, and a bottle of merlot from Napa that was to die for. I cried on her shoulder for a lifetime and she just let me. I spilled everything to her: how far I've fallen for him, how much I miss him, and my darkest secret— how much his brightness and goodness scare me because I'm terrified I'll never be enough to truly deserve someone like him. The last thing was pretty much validated at the party and that hurts like hell. I'm infinitely grateful to her that she didn't try the "It'll be ok" approach because it won't be ok, not for a long time. When my tears ran dry we did what we always do: Thai delivery and _Breakfast at Tiffany's_.

Now it's Monday and I came in extra early so I would be guaranteed time to slip past the conference room and into my office without drawing the attention of two blue eyes. Problem is: I'm miserable. I don't want to be here even as we're wrapping up the final preparations for our big show in two days. I want to be back at home in sweats under the fluffy blanket that my mom made for me. I want to be the Elena I was a few weeks ago before I even met Damon and then allowed him to break my heart.

"Buongiorno bella," Enzo smiles and strolls into my office. He sits in Damon's chair, which hurts because I know that if this were any other Monday Damon would already be sitting there with a cup of coffee complaining about something he read over the weekend about Syria or global warming. He'd throw in his requisite inappropriate comments and I'd pretend to be offended, but I'd really be fighting to regain the ability to breathe like I do every time he flashes that lop-sided grin. "How was your weekend?"

"Long," I mumble and stare at the pile of files of my desk. I need to get excited about all of this again.

"I take it you haven't had a chance to peruse the blogs yet, huh?"

"No, why?"

"People are raving about your party, darling." Enzo says with his usual big gestures. "Your line is getting some killer buzz from a lot of places. _And_ a little birdie I know over at Calvin Klein said that people are fighting for tickets to the Chateau Verveine show on Wednesday."

"Sometimes I think you just make up good news so I'll like you."

"You already like me, El." He shrugs and he's right. No, not like that! I like him as an easy-going, eternally-optimistic friend. "Here, I'll show you," he points to my computer and jumps out of his seat. He stands right behind me leaning over my chair and typing in a URL on my browser. His free hand drapes over the back of my chair and he's so close I can feel his breath in my hair.

"Ta da!" he says and stands up, giving me some much needed space. As soon as the Refinery 29 front page loads I click on the link titled "Southern Belles Slay in the Big Apple," and I'm speechless when I read the first paragraph: _The new line from fresh-faced Chateau Verveine will take your breath away at first sight. The gauzy, ethereal sundresses and vintage-inspired details will have you longing for a summer on the porch with a mason jar of sweet tea. Designers Caroline Forbes and Elena Gilbert are sure to slay in their Fashion Week debut this week. Watch for their gorgeous frocks on the red carpet on the film festival circuit this season. We're calling it now: C.V. is the one to beat this week in NYC._

"This is incredible," I say, awe-struck and feeling like I'm going to float through my plate glass window and dissolve into a cloud of glitter over Central Park.

"But completely unsurprising," Enzo says and leans back over me. I don't even mind this time because I'm still in shock over the beautiful words I just read. "I'm emailing this to you so you'll have something to read this week when you're freaking out over the small stuff."

I throw my head back and laugh because he hit the nail on the head. As soon as I can focus on work I know that I'll find a million things to freak out about and it's nice to hear that at least we're doing something right so far. Unfortunately He-Who-Was-Mercifully-Off-My-Mind for all of four minutes walks by right at that time and, of course, the blinds in my office are wide open. His face falls immediately when he sees Enzo and I with matching smiles and he looks back down at his phone and disappears into the conference room. Freaking swell.

"I'll be right back," I mutter and shove out of my chair. I am _not_ ready to throw the towel in yet with Damon, but we need to talk. And I mean really talk, he's so good at hiding his thoughts that I have no idea where he's at right now with the whole "us" thing or if there even is an "us" anymore.

"Hey Lena," Enzo stops me as I'm nearly at my door. He's already taken up my seat and is clicking something on my computer screen. "Just make sure this effort is going both ways, you feel me?" I nod and take off down the hallway towards the conference room as briskly as I can without running. Dana jumps in front of me from out of nowhere with a panicked look on her face.

"Elena, we have an emergency! One of the interns ordered the pumps for Wednesday in European sizes and none of the models can fit into them!" Dana rambles and I see Damon heading towards reception with his messenger bag over his shoulder. That can't be good. "We can't get peep toes in nude anywhere in this city at this time of year! The sample closet only has three pairs of cognac stilettos which means that half of the girls are either going barefoot or we have to completely change up the ensembles! What do we do?!"

"I don't know, ask Caroline," I answer distractedly and try to get Damon's attention as he waits on the lift to arrive.

I manage to side step Dana and sprint to the lift as it's closing.

"Damon!" I call out before the doors shut completely, they may have stopped me from getting to him but they certainly don't protect me from the icy glare he shot my way. He could have held the door, he knew I was looking for him, he just doesn't want to see me. I should take the hint, I blew him off on Friday so I guess it's only fair. I just can't stand the fact that he thinks I might be intentionally hurting him.

"Fuck!" I shout and kick the brushed aluminum with my poor Prada boot that doesn't deserve such treatment.

"I'm sorry Mr. Lagerfeld, it must have been someone outside," I hear Amber say and I turn around to see everyone staring at me before snapping back to what they were doing like they weren't just playing gleeful witness to my humiliation. I don't swear very often and especially not at work but this is just ridiculous.

" _The stairs! Take the stairs!_ " Amber mouths to me as she covers the phone receiver and points to the fire exit. I wave a quick 'thanks' to her and take off down the innumerable flights of stairs, it's no small miracle that I don't catch a heel and eat it on the way down. When I reach the lobby he's still there, doing something on his phone and almost at the revolving exit doors.

"Damon!" I shout and my voice sounds strained, winded, and miserable bouncing off of the pristine marble in the lobby. This time there's nothing brisk or conserved, I take off as fast as my legs can carry me. Image be damned, I can feel the best thing I've had in a long time slipping through my fingers. My heart rate jumps so high I feel dizzy and it has nothing to do with my sprint across the lobby. I've never really struggled with anxiety, but this is what a panic attack might feel like I imagine. "Wait up!"

"I'm working from home today Elena, I already discussed it with Caroline," he rolls his eyes and keeps walking. He doesn't even look up from his phone at me and the way he says my name… it's like he hates the way it tastes on his lips. It hurts.

"Ok," I just stop following him because I don't know what else to say. Do I apologize for being hurt about what he said at the party? That'd be tantamount to apologizing for being me. Do I ask him to overlook the fact that he hates my profession and be with me anyways? That'd be tantamount to asking him not to be himself. Hello proverbial rock, oh look… a proverbial hard place! So glad that you both showed up. "Bye then."

He keeps walking for a few more steps and stops. He pauses for the blink of an eye before he turns around. He's not hurt or sad, he's angry. Scratch that, he's livid. I can tell by the fire in his usually gentle, beautiful blue eyes. I've seen him mildly irritated but this is something altogether different and it's because of me. He's livid at _me_.

"This isn't a fucking _game_ to me, Elena. I have too much going on in my life to be fucked around with so if that's what this is just tell me now."

"I don't really understand what you're getting at," I stutter and take a step back. I'm not afraid of him, not even a little bit. I know that he'd never hurt me intentionally, but I am intimidated by his intensity in the where's-my-hole-to-crawl-into kind of way. Perhaps more so, I am hurt that he thinks I am playing games. I would never do that, period, let alone do that to him.

"You're not stupid, I saw you in your office with _him_ ," he motions over my shoulder with an angry hand.

"You mean you saw me reading a blog about the party on Friday with an old employee?" I try to say calmly because his jealousy thing is going a little too far now. He needs to calm down, I don't like the way that he's talking to me. This whole thing is a misunderstanding.

"Like that's _all_ that was going on," he scoffs. He thinks I'm a liar, swell. Really, freaking swell.

"Yes, that _is_ all that was going on. Exactly what kind of person do you think I am?" I ask and cross my arms in challenge. He just shakes his head. I can tell he wants to get out of here, too. "Answer the question, Damon, what kind of person do you think I am?"

"Not the kind who would do _this_."

"So you think I'm not the kind of person who reads blogs." Maybe not the kind of person who falls in love with someone after a couple of weeks? Not the kind of person who's ready to mortgage my dream just spend time with someone who doesn't respect me? Yeah, well I've never thought I was that kind of person either. Color us both surprised, Salvatore.

"So you're really going to tell me that there's nothing going on between you and Mr. Italy Fashion guy."

"If you really feel like I have to dignify your insecurity with an answer, then yes: I am telling you that there is nothing 'going on' between Enzo and me. He's a friend and an old employee, that's it."

"And before?" his eyes flare when he asks like he already knows the answer.

"I've slept with him if that's what you're asking," I shrug and lay it all out. I'm not ashamed of who I am. "Once, five years ago. When you're ready for that conversation I'm happy to share it with you because I'm the kind of person who believes in honesty and trust. I'm also the kind of person who wants someone like you in my life and I want this to work. The rest is up to you. Have a good day working from home."

I turn and walk back into the lobby. I don't even make it to the elevator when I duck behind the ridiculously large ficus that the building owner had installed in the world's largest flower pot by the lift. My back hits to cold marble wall and I slide to the ground, covering my sobs with my hands. I pull my knees up to my chest and for the first time since I can remember I let myself cry at work and hope that only me and the ridiculous ficus ever know about it.

I managed to pull myself together after a few minutes and promised that I'd stop feeling bad about myself. It's time to woman up, take adversity in stride, and get on with my day. I swept back up to the fourteenth floor, solved the shoe crisis, ordered lunch for the office, and scheduled a car to pick me up for Wednesday night. All without shedding a single tear.

I'm midway through my call back note stack when I hear a timid knock on my door. I'm really done with visitors today. I look up and see Amber with a giant pure white phalaenopsis orchid in a gorgeous blue and green ceramic pot. We've been getting a lot of 'good luck' flowers before the show but this one is stunning. I saw an arrangement very similar to the one in Amber's arms at Ariston's Flowers & Boutique last week and almost bought it to replace the one I mercilessly killed when I forgot to water it all week.

"That's gorgeous. Where did it come from?"

"They're from Mr. Salvatore. They just came," she smiles girlishly because I'm sure she's thinking we had an epic, movie-worthy make-up scene in the lobby. Too bad she's wrong.

"Thanks, Amber," I smile back so she doesn't suspect anything different and take the beautiful pot from here. He's a human yo-yo and I wonder if I even have the energy it would take to keep up with him long term. I set the pot on my desk and grab the card out of it.

 _Dinner tonight 7 pm at the Brindle Room? I have more than three lines of text to say. D.S._

 ** _..._**

It's 7:03pm and I _hate_ being late but traffic was a nightmare to get here. I rushed out of the office leaving a thousand loose ends and hailed the first cab I saw before proceeding to sit in traffic for forty-five minutes. The whole time I was tying myself in knots thinking that Damon would worry I wasn't coming, thinking that I meant to cut him out completely, wondering if I cared about the things that he had to say. I frantically asked the cabbie about ninety times if he could get me to the restaurant any faster, I think he did just do I'd stop talking.

Now here I am, three minutes late and a complete wreck. He's not in the mass of people waiting for a table up front and my palms start to sweat thinking that I may have lost him. I am just about to ask the host if he's seen him when I catch a pair of familiar blue eyes from across the room. We can't just be a coincidence. We're epic, or we could be. I know it and he looks like he knows it to. We're too big to walk away from and I really hope that's what he wants to talk about.

I make my way to him and notice that he's gotten the same table he did when he brought me here on our date. He stands as I walk up but he doesn't meet my gaze again. I try to swallow the uneasy feeling into my gut as I sit down. He fidgets with his hands and it sinks the forbidding feeling deeper into my heart.

"I wasn't sure if you were coming," he mumbles and it's uncharacteristically timid.

"There was a lot of traffic, I'm sorry I'm late." I take a sip of the water in front of my because my throat is scratchy and dry. I can almost feel the _it's not you, it's me… it's not going to work out_ speech coming. "Thank you for the flowers, they're beautiful."

"I'm sorry for the way I acted at your party and earlier today," he says without looking up. I can see we're getting right to the point then. "You deserve better than that and _I'm_ better than that. I don't have an excuse for it, but I would like to say that it's been a while since I've done _this_ and I'm obviously a little rusty."

"And what is _this_?" I hope I don't sound too needy or insecure.

"What do you want it to be?" his voice cracks softly and it brings tears to my eyes. I hate that he's hurting because of me.

"You can't answer a question with a question." I try to make my smile sweet to lighten the mood.

"Fine," he says and looks away for just a moment before finally looking at _me_ with a completely different expression in his eyes. It's soft and warm like how he was before he kissed me the first time. "I'd like it to be _something…_ steady and… exclusive."

"You want a relationship with me?" I hope with all hope that he'll say yes. This should be uncomfortable for me, I shouldn't _want_ a relationship given my track record of being cheated on, dumped, and generally neglected by previous boyfriends. They all said the same thing: I work too much. I don't have the "right" set of priorities. I'm an ice queen. I believed all of those things for a long time, but if they were true then how could someone like Damon be interested in me?

"What does it sound like?" Oh, he isn't going to make this easy.

"Question with a question…"

"Yes, that's I want," he sighs with exasperation but I feel my heart leap into my throat.

"Ok." I reach across the table and grab his hand, which forces him to look at me. He still looks unsure. I can't stop the little giggle that manages to escape my lips. "I want that, too. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm kind of glad you have psychotic jealousy issues. I was beginning to think you were too perfect to be real."

"It's not psychotic from a guy's point of view," he grumbles.

"A guy's point of view? Please enlighten me."

"You're not going to let me off the hook easily are you?" _Nope_. He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair in the way I just love. "Look, I… I wasn't planning on letting someone be… important to me. I just wanted to be a good dad and a passable attorney and then I walked into your office and that all got shot to hell. You're beautiful Elena, and smart and funny and sweet and…" he pauses and looks at me, almost begging to just stop talking and get back to how we were, but I want, no… _need_ to hear it. I need to hear that I'm good enough for him.

"You're doing fine," I try not to laugh because I don't want him to think that I'm laughing at him. He's just really sweet when he's flustered and it's not something I see that often.

"You're the whole package, Elena. You're the kind of woman… I mean, you're just so… _you._ It's enough to make a guy a little… insecure, then _Enzo_ comes along and you have a history and you obviously like his company."

"Let's stop calling it a 'history.' It was once."

"Still. I've been burned before… pretty bad, and she wasn't even that great. It would… it would just really suck if that happened with you."

"Since you brought it up, I've been burned too, but never by anyone that mattered. I would never do that to you."

"Ok."

"Do you believe me?"

"I actually do."

"Good."

"So you're happy with this?" he asks and still looks unsure of himself which kills me. How could he possibly doubt the way I feel about him? How could he not see that in a few short weeks he's become one of the most important people in my world? I feel a little guilty that I've not been as obvious about that as I'd hoped to be. I make a mental note to be better about showing him how important he is.

"What do you think?"

"Question with a question," he smirks. Instead of answering him I get up and slide to his side of the table and I kiss him. My arms slide around his neck and his hands find my hips and pull me into his lap. I forget that we're in a public place and there are probably a hundred sets of eyes on us. I kiss him earnestly, hotly, with everything I've wanted to tell him and show him. I taste him like it's my first and last chance, like I need him to survive because I think I actually might. He sweet and wild and everything about us just _fits_. Every kiss we've shared is new and different and this one is "I'm sorry" and "I missed you" and "I want you." I'm wrecked under the sheer importance of it. He pulls away first, which is good because I don't think I'd be capable of stopping. He takes my hands tenderly and cradles them between us and kisses my palms reverently. "Good answer."

"Will you come home with me, Damon?" I whisper because this is just for us. He kisses my hands again and it's the best 'yes' I've ever gotten.

 **xoxo**


	17. Chapter 17

"Yeah, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning… I don't think Aunt Lexi's makes _better_ waffles, they're just different sweetie…" Damon says into the phone and rolls his eyes as I pull two wine glasses out of the cabinet and open the legendary Cantena Zapata 2008 malbec I've been hoarding for a night just like tonight. I turn on some soft music in the background to set the mood, I'm not really that great at this whole _thing_ but it seems like a decent start to me. "Ok, _after_ breakfast then… I love you too, goodnight Hannie."

"Stefan better not read her a scary bedtime story again," he shakes his head and drops his phone on the kitchen island next to my purse. I hand him one of the wine glasses and he clinks the rim against mine before he takes a sip. He stares at me and it's a look I'm not familiar with, it's something between glad and relieved. My face flushes and I know it has nothing to do with the wine in my glass, it's because I know that even though I can't put my finger on why he's looking at me like that he's happy to be here. "Thank you for coming to dinner tonight."

"Thank you for inviting me," I say quietly because we're only about a foot apart and I can already feel the sparks bouncing between us.

"I really screwed up before, Elena."

"I hardly remember it, it's all in the past. Over," I smile and take a bigger-than-I-should drink of wine. I don't why _I'm_ starting to get nervous. This is what I've wanted all along, Damon in my place all to myself. Now that it's really happening I'm a mess. I feel like a bumbling teenager trying to impress my crush with how cool I can be.

"In any case," he smiles radiantly and takes my chin between his thumb and finger so I have to look at him. "Thank you." He kisses my cheek softly and it feels like reverence and affection. He's so gentle that I can feel tears prickle alone my lashes. No one, I mean no one, has ever treated me like this before: like I was worthy of being treasured. He probably doesn't even understand the depth of the gift he's giving me right now by just being here. He's remaking me and giving me a boatload of reasons why I can believe him when he says that I'm better than good enough. The weight of this moment threatens to crush me right here and now.

"Refill?" I ask a little too loudly for to mood we've set and I deliver another pour to his glass before he can even answer. He wraps his arm around my waist to pull me closer, so close that I can smell his cologne. I fill my lungs with the scent of aged leather and peppermint and all things Damon and a calm washes over me. _This_ is real. We're real. Arguments and misunderstandings and all, we're still here— together. He stayed. He could have run like everyone else, he could have decided I wasn't worth the effort and cut ties but he didn't. My throat chokes closed and one of the tears I've done a pretty good job of keeping at bay finally escapes down my cheek.

"Hey," he says softly and catches the salty drop with him thumb. "What's wrong, honey?"

I open my mouth but nothing comes out, my throat is still so tight that it traps all of the words I want to tell him in my chest, right next to my heart where they're coming from. Instead I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. He rubs my back and tells me that "it's ok." But it's not. It's better than "ok" could ever be. It's a vow that he's going to drag all of the skeletons and ghouls and demons out of my closet and slay them. It's a promise that he'll love me even when I can't. It's all of the things I want to say but I'm worried that it's too soon for.

I'm so in love with him.

"Sorry," I sniffle in recovery and brush my fingers under my eyes to make sure my mascara isn't making a raccoon out of me. "It was a long day, I'm kind of a mess."

"You're beautiful. You're always beautiful."

It's my turn to kiss him. I meant for it to be soft and sweet but as soon as our lips touch soft and sweet is out the window. My fingers tangle in his hair and pull him closer and closer as his tongue traces the seam of my lips. The raw edge of my granite counter top digs into my lower back but Damon's hands are on my hips pulling us closer still. My brain is on sensory overload and I hardly have time to register that he's sliding my sweater off of my shoulders and tracing his fingers down the princess seams in the front of my dark blue wool sheath dress. I love this dress and it cost me a small fortune because I had to have it re-tailored twice after the first fitting came out so wonky, but I wouldn't mind if it ended up in shreds on the kitchen floor right now. I want to be even closer to Damon.

His lips glide over my neck, nipping at all the places where I'm most ticklish while my fingers try to clumsily loosen his tie, damn half Windsors. My giggles draw a hearty chuckle from his chest and it warms me to the core. He stops suddenly and pushes my hair off of my shoulders. I know exactly what he's looking at, it's a ghastly scar along my hairline that's gotten a little better with the years. I was grateful that he didn't notice it when I spent the night at his house, but I guess I couldn't hide it forever.

" _Not_ a shark bite," I smile and turn my head to hide it. I'm not ashamed of it, I just don't want to have _that_ conversation right now. I was sick, now I'm not. It's a battle scar that I earned at the weathered age of eleven. Someday I'll tell him the whole story but for right now I just want to be in this moment with him.

"BASE jumping accident?" he smirks.

"I'll tell you about it later." He looks a little dejected, like I'm trying to hide something from him and I'm not, I swear, now just isn't the time. "I promise."

"This dress is driving me insane," he growls in my ear and runs his hands down my back, right over the expertly hidden zipper under the center seam. "I've spent the last hour figuring out how you got into it."

"I can show you," because as much as I am enjoying him, I really don't want to do this in my kitchen with Jaws watching.

I've pretty much wanted this from the moment I laid eyes on him, even if I _was_ loathe to admit it. I take his hand and lead him down the hall to my bedroom. The small lamp by my bedside is on. I have it set to a timer because sometimes its pretty creepy to come home to a dark, quiet house alone. The curtains that usually cover the wall of windows overlooking Central Park are open and there's a beautiful view of the city skyline. The little hedge at the edge of my small bedroom balcony is swaying in the breeze and everything just seems so perfect. I take a deep breath before turning to face him, this is _it_.

"This place is huge," he comments and looks around and yeah, it is. When I bought it I was thinking of me and Katherine, and maybe someday me and _someone_ and eventually little someones. Now it just seems silly and excessive because it's me and a goldfish. It's expensive to heat and I'm rarely here so it's always a little cool and two sides are all windows so it's a little drafty. On the best days it feels like a magazine picture that's too orderly to actually be lived in on the worst days it feels like a mausoleum.

"I really just wanted to balcony and jacuzzi tub. If you're nice I'll show you both of them."

"I'm always nice," he smirks again.

"Sure you are," I laugh and toe my boots off. He's nice now, but it wasn't that long ago that I wanted to wring his neck for being decidedly _un_ -nice. Without the help of my heels I'm a good deal shorter than him and he must notice too because he's even gentler, if that's possible. His hands cup my face in the definition of tender and he kisses me softly. My heart is beating so fast and so hard that it's making me dizzy. His touch is the only thing that's grounding me. I lean forward to kiss him again and our noses bump. My giggles are answered by a deep chuckle from Damon. He spins me so my back is against his chest and I let my head fall onto his shoulder. He kisses my cheek and my ear.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks quietly.

"Absolutely certain," I smile and brush my hair over my shoulder and point to the hidden zipper he's been looking for. He just shakes his head like he's still processing the magic of dress making. I'll make an expert out of him yet.

His fingers work at my zipper. I'm not sure if I'm imagining it or not, but I think I can feel his fingers shaking slightly. The calluses on his palms feel gloriously rough and real against my back when he slips his hands back up to my neck to slide my dress off my shoulders so I'm left in my dark green lace bra and matching boyshorts. Before I can even step out of it he has one arm around my middle, anchoring me against him while his other hand runs down the length of my arm leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers in my ear starts a trail of kisses down my neck and across my shoulders. I sigh and lean back into him completely, this might be the first time anyone has ever done this: taken their time with me. He carefully turns me in his arms so that we're face to face. His gaze is too intense for me to stare to long so I busy myself undoing his shirt buttons. He chuckles at my concentration and kisses my forehead sweetly. It's like his hands can't get enough of my skin and he rests them at my waist, only removing them to slip out of his shirt.

I try to be smooth and pull him back to my bed, but I trip on my dress on the floor and instead of being seductive and graceful we just kind of collapse onto the mattress with a bounce. More laughing. He's _fun_. I give him a devious smile and flip us over so that he's on his back.

"I should have known you'd want to be on top," he smirks like he did on the first day we met. I reach for a pillow to hit him with but he catches my wrist and pulls me into a burning kiss. I can feel him already hard and aching under me and I torture him a little more by rolling my hips against his. He groans in response and deliciously tugs the lucky strands of my hair that are woven through his fingers. I venture to his neck, then to his chest, kissing the cords and valleys of his muscles and reveling in his smooth skin. I pull the blankets over my head and slide my fingers into the waist band on his boxer briefs. I knew he'd wear these.

"Hey, hey," he says softly and pulls be back up towards his chest as he brushes a few stray tendrils away from my face. "You don't have to."

"I _want_ to," I grin and kiss him softly before kissing my way back down his chest. I want every part of him, I want him all for myself. I'm going to greedy tonight because he's mine right now. I'll admit, I've hated going down on other guys, I've always thought it was mildly degrading and awfully one-sided but I get it now. Damon is already trembling under the promise of it and it makes me feel powerful and sexy. When I take his cock in my mouth, he writhes gloriously against my sheets. I love that I can do this to him. I know he's trying to be gentle but his fingers keep twitching against me like he wants to tangle them in my hair. I'm no expert, but I've casually read enough issues of _Cosmopolitan_ to know what to do. I use my tongue to swirl around his tip and he says my name in a way I'd really like to hear again. No one has ever said it like that. I still don't know what he likes hard and fast or sensual or light and fun, but I sure as hell look forward to finding out my extensive scientific study.

"Elena, that's… fuck, so good, but—" he manages as I swallow around him, my hands run down his stomach and I there's something about the way that his muscles contract and twist that makes me insanely hot. "I'm not going last if you keep doing that baby."

I figure I'll show him a small mercy and I stop, but not before kissing his swollen tip and crawling back up his body, leaving kisses on all of my favorite spots. My lips barely graze his collarbone and he yanks me up to crush his lips against mine in an embrace that is hot and needy and, I'm sure, will leave my lips a little swollen. He rolls so that I'm under him and he's already dragging my panties down my legs. I'm a little embarrassed at just how wet I am, but he growls in approval when he run his fingertips back up my legs.

"I want you, Damon," I whisper against his lips. It's not that I'm against foreplay but I'm about to die from neediness. "Please, I need you now."

"Do you have a condom?"

"No, I'm good if you're good."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," I nod again. Good god man! That light isn't getting any greener and I wasn't kidding about the _now_.

With one swift thrust he's buried completely in me and I have to bite my lip not to cry out. I can admit something, right? It's a little uncomfortable. It's been a _while_ for me and Damon is definitely on the _well_ -endowed end of the spectrum. I try not to squirm too much and to relax but I'm wound up in a million knots right now. I hold my breath because he's either going to need to move or kiss me or something. You know, they never show this part in the movies: the awkward, figuring everything out phase. Everyone in movies and books and magazines: masters of sex, even first-time-post-fight awkward sex. Still though, there's no one else I'd rather be sharing this with because even for all the awkwardness it's just _right_.

"Fuck, Elena, you're so tight," he mumbles and drops his forehead to my shoulder. He peppers little kisses on my neck and shoulders that help me relax. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," I answer and blow out a long breath. Damon smiles and kisses me so sweetly that I almost blush. Yeah, I know… his… in my… yeah, but he has a way of stripping away everything until I'm just a girl excited to be falling in love with a great guy. He deepens his kiss at the same time that he rolls his hips against mine.

Hot. Damn.

Every nerve in my body lights up in a fiery chorus of flashes and strobes. My spines rolls and twists all the way down to my hips in perfect unison with his and its a rhythm I didn't even know I already knew. Everything about him feels so absurdly good and I never want it to end. Everything blends together in a silvery, slow haze until all I can feel is him: his lips, his hands, his chest against mine. I'm completely untethered in all things Damon and it's the best kind of lost I've ever felt. At some point I lost the last bit of my lace armor and there's nothing at all between us. He caresses my breasts and kisses them between telling me that I'm beautiful and that how badly he's wanted me.

His touch becomes a little more dominant and his palms smooth down my side and over my hip. When he gets to my knee he pulls it up to wrap around his waist and wow. I can feel him from an entirely new angle and everything changes. What was sweet and slow becomes hot and passionate. My nails dig into his back, inadvertently leaving little crescents indented in his skin, staking my claim on him. His hips thrust harder in response and he scrapes his teeth over my collarbone. My skin is overheating and I don't know how much more I can take before I combust. I brazenly take his hand and guide him to where I need his touch the most. With our fingers intertwined I can feel where I'm slick and stretched around him and it's so hot it nearly ends me. He groans against my lips and dips his tongue past my lips at the same time that he brushes his thumb over my clit.

Before I can even register the build up my orgasm steals the breath right out of my lungs. It goes on forever and when I feel him pulse inside of me a second wave hits me even harder. My arms hang limply around his neck as he takes a few steadying breaths with his face nestled in the crook of my neck. He shifts to pull out and a small aching pang shoots through me. He hisses quietly through his teeth and collapses next to me, our shoulders touching.

"Fuck me," he sighs and laughs.

"Maybe in a second," I mutter in response, not even having enough strength to turn my head to look at him.

"That was incredible."

"Mhmm," I try my best smirk and manage to prop myself up on an elbow. "This isn't going to do anything to help me with my dirty daydreaming at work."

"Jesus, Elena, don't give me anymore ideas than the ones that have already been tormenting me," he groans but pulls me against his chest. His heart is still beating as fast as mine but his skin is cooler where his sweat is drying. After a few minutes he kisses the crown of my head and slips out of bed to clean up. My heart ticks up a few notches because this is usually the part where I get to come down from my high alone as I watch my guy pull his clothes back on before the sound of the front door closing locks me into my lonely apartment all over again. Instead, this time I hear the lock on the front door click and the light in the kitchen flip off before Damon slides back into bed and pulls me tightly against him.

"Are you warm enough?" he asks, resting his chin on my shoulder and snuggling me like the entirely blissed out little spoon that I am.

"Mhmm," I answer sleepily. I'm ready to crash and sleep for a week. I'm exhausted, happily exhausted, and I love the feeling of his skin against mine.

"Can I get you anything?" he asks and tucks a stray hair behind my ear before kissing my cheek. I just shake my head no since I don't even have the energy to open my eyes. "Goodnight honey."

 _Great_ night.


	18. Chapter 18

**manaliA... ask and you shall receive ;)**

"Good morning, Beautiful."

"Good morning," I mutter back with a ridiculous smile on my face. I could really get used to waking up like this every morning. I roll onto my back and thread my fingers in Damon's raven hair. His bed head is adorable and the stubble on his cheeks is ruggedly sexy. "In case it's not obvious, I like waking up with you."

"I second that," he smiles radiantly and bends down to kiss me. I catch him off guard by rolling on top of him. His hands glide appreciatively over my thighs. "You're going to make me late."

"So? Let's be late," I pout and kiss him again. "Let's be so, so, so late."

"Not all of us own our own company, honey. Some of us still have to answer to the man," he says but he's not serious, between the lilt in his voice and the smile hiding just under the surface I know that he'd be on board with just calling it a day all together. Oh, if only we could.

"What else are you working on right now?" I ask because it always escapes me that he's working on other cases in addition to ours. I tuck my hair behind my ear and slide down to lay my head against his shoulder. I love the way his muscles flex as he combs his fingers through my hair.

"Nothing exciting, some copyright bullshit."

"How is the Fire Island case going?"

"Ugh, don't remind me," he groans and rolls over, crushing me in a sweet hug before rearranging me across his chest again. I'd be content to let him move me around like this all day long. "I have to file the petition with the state attorney still. The other two lawyers sold out so now it's just me. Which means it will take three times as long as be three times as much work. I hope those assholes are enjoying their seven figures and moral bankruptcy."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not so wild about the cabanas and infinity pool now, huh?"

"No, I guess not. There's something I've been meaning to ask you. Our big show is on Wednesday and I was wondering if you might want to come, if you're not busy or anything."

"I'd love to."

"You would?" it's not that I don't doubt that he wants to support me, but after the pre-show party debacle it is a little surprising that he's so quick to commit to my invitation.

"Yeah, I'd love to see what you've been working so hard on. I promise not to fuck it up this time."

"We said we weren't going to talk about that anymore," I roll my eyes, but there's nothing serious about it. The fight and the party feel like a lifetime ago and where we are right now is worth the couple of bumps in the road.

"I'm bad. So, so bad," hr growls.

"You are. You're just the living worst."

"You're going to have to straighten me out before we get out of bed."

"I thought you were going to be late."

"Fuck it, let's be late," he groans and rolls back over so that I'm spread out beneath him. He's holding himself up on his arms so that every exquisitely corded muscle in on glorious display. There's something about his easy smile and messy hair and those _arms_ that just… ugh, he's so damn sexy. And he's _mine_. That in and of itself turns me on more than anything I can possibly think of and I think he knows it because his charming smile quickly morphed into his I-know-that-I'm-melting-your-panties smirk.

Before I can call him out on it he nudges my knees apart and settles his hips between my thighs. I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one turned on. I do my best to return a you're-hard-for-me-and-I-haven't-even-put-on-make-up-yet smirk but with one thrust of his hips he gives me just enough of him to make want to beg for more. I'll admit it, I'm still a little sore from last night but the dull ache of being wrapped up completely with him again smolders up my spine and bows my back. Every nerve in my body gets an instant replay of the oblivion that we found together a few short hours ago. I can already feel the pit of my stomach coiling in anticipation and an almost painful need for him.

"Please, Damon" I moan and drag my fingers through his hair. I want him, I _need_ him, but I don't know how to tell him that without being weak.

"What do you need, baby?" he asks and the growl that graces the sweet name that he's never used for me before almost makes me come.

"You," I whisper, meeting his eyes as honestly and openly as I ever have. His beautiful blue eyes actually become even clearer, if that's possible. He _gets_ it, he gets me. All the words we're not saying are clear in his gaze and it unravels the weird knot that's been sitting between my shoulder blades since… well, forever I guess. This connection, this energy, this feeling… it might be all I ever need. He could be all I ever need. The thought doesn't throw me into a panic like it normally does because it's all just so good.

He kisses me slowly and carefully, almost reverently. I roll my hips to remind him that we were in the middle of something before he decided to cement himself into every plan I have for the future. He chuckles lightly and brushes a stray strand of hair from my face. His tongue teases across the seams of my lips and he dips his tongue against mine at the same time that he presses his hips completely against mine. The sigh I breathe into his lips urges him on but not in the way I thought it would. Last night was a frenzy, the release of the very heady sexual tension that's stretched between us since pretty much the first time he leaned so arrogantly against my office door jamb. This now is something completely different. It's slow and hazy, like a second glass of a good merlot.

His lips find a trail down my neck as we find a slow burn rhythm that almost robs me of my ability to breathe and certainly zaps any ability to form a coherent thought. His strokes are strong and powerful, but slow and measured like he's savoring every second that he's inside me, driving me wild. I'm already on the precipice of falling to pieces around him when he drops his hips a little lower and unwinds my hands from the nape of his neck. He laces his fingers with mine and presses them into the pillow above my head.

"Come for me, Elena," Damon commands barely above a whisper. He's as close as I am and I know that he doesn't want to let go before I do. Just the timbre of his voice washing over me is almost enough to break the thin thread of restraint that I have on reality. This is better than sex, this is what making love must feel like. The realization that he's making love to me sweeps me up in a whirlwind of things I never thought I'd feel. I don't know what happens next, all I know is that everything dissolves around me so that all I know is Damon: his voice, his touch, and the beat of his heart that I can feel through the palms of his hands that are melded with him.

"God, Damon," I manage between unsteady breaths. "I—"

"That good, huh?" he chuckles, his head resting against my chest, his own chest heaving with exertion. I just nod because I can't tell him the truth. I can't tell him that even though I'm sure of how I feel and it's completely and utterly the most stark truth that I've known in my life, I'm too scared to say the words. I'm terrified that those three words will give him the power to break me into a thousand pieces. It's messed up, I know.

He rests his chin on my sternum and releases one of my hands to run his palm over my breasts, which are still crazy sensitive from whatever it was that he just did to me. I shiver involuntarily and he smiles deviously, kissing a trail to my nipple and nipping at it with his teeth. I suck in a quick breath because that was almost enough to tear another orgasm from me, and I just don't think that his ego needs that right now.

"You're beautiful like this," he says matter-of-factly and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger.

"Like what? Puffy morning face and sex hair?" I smile genuinely and spin his Yale signet ring around his finger.

"Free," he answers like it should be obvious. "And, for the record, I like the sex hair."

"Are you looking to get laid again already, Salvatore?"

"I'm just collecting points for later," he smiles and his eyes twinkle with mischief. It makes me wish it was "later" already.

I'm just about to suggest that we call in sick today. We're both oh so sick, food poisoning or something. Whatever it is is going to require us to stay in bed all day long. Together. Naked. But my cursed phone starts to ring with the annoying text chime that Caroline downloaded to make sure I always pay attention to her messages.

"And so it begins…" I mutter and reach over the the nightstand to see who is responsible for raining on my parade. My heart speeds up a little when I see the name flash across the screen. "It's Katherine," I manage to eek out even though my throat feels like dry cotton.

"Ignore it," Damon suggests and kisses my free hand.

"Damon…" I almost drop my phone when I read the text: _having fun with your new boyfriend sis?_ He reads the screen with an expression on his face that I don't recognize and that I don't really want to see again. It's intense and fiercely protective but it's all just a flash because he smiles almost immediately at me. It's like he just _knew_ that his smile could calm me.

"It's fine. She's not going to do anything. She's just trying to intimidate you. We're not going to let her do that."

"She knows where I live, she used to live here too," I sit up quickly, clutching the sheets to my chest. I can feel my heart racing uncontrollably in my chest. My palms are sweaty and I feel dizzy. "They'd probably still let her upstairs, Damon. And she knows that you're here."

"Elena, baby, look at me," and I actually do find some comfort in the unending blue of his eyes. "Do you trust me?"

I nod in response because my throat is clamped closed.

"I'm not going to let her anywhere near you. You're safe, I promise," he says with a kiss to my exposed shoulder. "Now go take a hot shower and relax. I'll make us breakfast. You have eggs and coffee?"

I just nod but then shrug because I'm not really sure. I can't remember the last time I actually had time to go grocery shopping.

"I'll have to be creative then," he smirks and kisses me quickly on the lips again. "Shower. Now. Go. Or we really are going to be late."

He rolls out of bed and pulls on his boxers. I wish I could enjoy watching him but I'm still teetering on the edge of an anxiety attack. Damon disappears into the bathroom and I hear the shower turn on, after a couple of seconds I can see thin wisps of steam wander along the tile floor. He returns shortly with my fluffy white robe and drapes it over my shoulders before picking me up from the mattress.

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, Elena. Ever," he says strongly and I find my feet on the soft bath mat outside of my glass shower stall. "Take your time, okay?"

I nod and step under the pounding beads of hot water. The steam calms my muscles and the tension starts to unwind in my shoulders. Knowing that Damon is just a few steps away makes it easier to relax. I try not to think about Katherine's motives and her plans. None of that matters right now. At least it shouldn't. All that matters right now is that Damon is mine and I'm his. Completely.

For the first time in a long time, this apartment feels like home.

 **xo**


End file.
